


Steeped in You

by yozra



Series: Tales from the Tea Room [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angst and Humor, M/M, except it's a tea room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-08 07:36:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17382410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yozra/pseuds/yozra
Summary: Not just another coffee shop AU.Because it involves tea.





	1. Assam

On the outskirts of eastern Tokyo, hidden among low-rise offices and homes squeezed in with barely an arm’s length between them, stood a small tea room. The greenery crawling the walls and arching over the dark wooden door stood out enough to gain a casual glance from any passer-by who could spare a second, but not to stray from their determined route and step inside.

However, should someone have time and should they have a keen eye as they rested their hand on the brass handle, they would have also noticed the edge of a wooden plaque peering from beneath the verdant curtain, and brushing it aside would read the engraving ‘Aobazuku’. (Should they also do a quick search on their phone they would find pictures of a brown hawk-owl that looked like it had just spotted a neighbourhood crow eloping with an eagle.) Pushing the door open, they would be invited into a darkened room scented with lumber and tea and baked goods, furnished with tables dressed in white lace accompanied by seats of dark wood softened by handmade cushions. Once inside, they would come face to face with a rosemary counter displayed with scones and pound cakes, the casing alongside iced cakes and pies, and jars of tea lined along behind, all ready to comfort, and ease – a sanctuary from the rush of modern life.

On this particular day of the mid-work week, at an hour when most businessmen and women had been released from their overtimes, the tea room was empty except for one.

The owner, Akaashi Keiji, sat on the stool behind the counter, sipping on warm camomile and unwinding from the day. Not that his day had been especially demanding, it was the weekday after all, but it was routine for him to begin mentally relaxing after his employees left at nine. He would finish clearing tables and take a moment for himself with a pot of tea, letting thoughts drift in and out of his awareness. After finishing, he would check or blend supplies until last orders at eleven when he would begin packing leftover desserts for his employees to take the following day. The remaining chores – washing dishes, sweeping the floors – he would do once he flipped the sign hanging on the door to ‘closed’. His days were full, uneventful and repetitive, and it was all he required in his life.

Soft hoots interrupted the background piano music.

Akaashi’s gaze flicked up to the wooden clock hanging by the door, two owls perched on a branch at the pendulum end swaying gently.

Eleven.

Akaashi took inventory – five scones, five strawberry tarts and three slices of victoria sponge. More than usual, but then the evening had been slow.

The bells on the door rattled against the glass as the door swung open, the boorish entrance not making Akaashi frown (because he was a professional), but his “good evening” was frosted and his default neutral expression sharpened by a slight purse to his lips. Three men piled in, the room quickly filled with their loud voices and louder personalities seeping from their appearance and build.

The first two continued their conversation without acknowledgement while the third, about to close the door, stopped as his eyes met with Akaashi’s. He paused and widened his eyes, and Akaashi wanted to question what was so surprising.

The man shivered, realising he was responsible for letting in the cold and released his hold on the handle, allowing the door shut.

“Where can we sit?”

A: Inform them last orders were over and see them out. He may lose potential patronage for being a stickler for punctuality, but he wasn’t one to care about what others thought of him or the way he ran his business.

B: Inform them last orders were over, but allow them to stay. He had done this a handful of times, often during downpours where customers intended to have a quick drink with the hope the rain would stop during the half an hour between entering and having to make the fifteen minute dash to the station.

Last orders were placed an hour before closing because no one could take their time to enjoy their beverage or food when you had to include preparations and brewing time. First it would be one minute, then two, and before he knew it there would be people coming in at half past eleven expecting to be served immediately so they could wolf down clumps of unchewed food and drain their drink in one sitting at the expense of burning their insides.

Akaashi mentally shuddered.

One exception would lead to another, and another, his careful intention pecked apart.

He calculated this in the split second it took for the third man to blink, golden eyes shining surprisingly bright in the dim room.

Akaashi glanced at the clock; two minutes past.

By the time the man smiled, an unthinkable third option popped into his head: allowing them to order.

He recalculated. Less than the average number of customers visited today, going so far as to allowing his employees an extended evening break and sending them home early (without deducting their pay, of course.) Apart from being exceptionally loud, the men didn’t seem like they would cause trouble.

“Wherever is free,” he found himself saying, words sounding like they belonged to someone else.

The man with a mass of black hair that was almost medusa-esque in that it had a mind of its own, and who was wearing clothes adorned with heavy folds suggesting a previous day’s worth of wear, a night’s sleep, and a second day’s wear, looked around the room occupied only by themselves.

“So, anywhere.”

Those two words implied unpopularity. Akaashi shook the thought aside, giving the man the benefit of the doubt. His mind was dulled by not having enough work to do that day, he was probably fabricating things for his own entertainment.

“Let’s sit by the window, Kuro-chan.” This came from the man beside him, a startling contrast with clothes that looked like he had dressed and walked out of a store and his styled hair that possibly involved the same amount of time taken for the whole of Akaashi’s morning routine.

“We close at midnight,” Akaashi said, a feeble attempt to deter them from ordering.

“Don’t worry, waiter-chan, we won’t outstay our welcome,” the man called as he snaked his way between the chairs, leading the other two to his preferred seating.

Akaashi plucked the menu from the stand and readied three waters and wet towels on a tray, wondering what could make him act out of the ordinary as he followed.

“Not our usual type of place,” ‘Kuro-chan’ stated as Akaashi set down the glasses.

Akaashi agreed. A bar or izakaya seemed more suitable.

He received a thanks from the third man, also sporting an extreme hairstyle of black, white and grey, spiked up in a way that embodied an exclamation mark.

“Mattsun told me about this place, apparently the afternoon teas are amazing!”

‘Kuro-chan’ made a point of turning his head looking around the room, his gaze stopping momentarily at Akaashi before turning to his friend. “Are you sure? Looks pretty empty to me.”

Akaashi couldn’t stop the faint crease forming between his brows.

“I like it!”

Akaashi felt the Exclamation Man’s eyes on him, which he pretended not to notice as he set down the menu at the centre of the table.

“Our afternoon teas are from two to five,” Akaashi spoke carefully, in case they weren’t aware of what the name ‘afternoon tea’ implied, or of the current time.

Mr. Impeccable looked up with a flash of smile that was disturbingly perfect and cooler than that of the Exclamation Man. “I’m aware of what the name suggests, even if these two aren’t.” He winked, as though that was reassurance enough, ignoring the two men yelling with an offended ‘hey!’ either side.

“You don’t have coffee do you? I’m not really into tea,” ‘Kuro-chan’ said, not even looking at the menu.

Akaashi couldn’t say he was surprised.

“Kuro-chan, it’s a tea room, of course there’s no coffee,” Mr. Impeccable said matter-of-factly, like he was a regular frequenter. “But they list dandelion root, it’s practically a coffee substitute. I’ll have an earl grey. Bokkun?”

Exclamation Man – ‘Bokkun’, Akaashi was now able to call – looked through the menu. “Do you have anything without caffeine?”

“Yeah, don’t even give him any, he might destroy the place,” ‘Kuro-chan sneered.

“That was _one_ _time_ and you spiked it with—”

“Our herbal teas are caffeine-free,” Akaashi cut through the banter. “Which blend would you prefer?”

“Er—” ‘Bokkun’ frantically looked through the menu and looked up at a loss. “Surprise me?”

Akaashi gave a nod, making his way back to the counter.

“And a plateful of whatever scones you have left, waiter-chan,” Mr. Impeccable called after him.

Akaashi caught snippets of conversation as he prepared the pots and saucers – something about a match they saw on television – until he reached the third empty pot, where he drowned out the noise and concentrated.

He glanced to them again, all three animated in tone and gesture. ‘Bokkun’ was the loudest, Akaashi observed, noting the constant jittering of the man’s right leg. Constant movement in general – leaning forward to rest his arms on the table, leaning back with his arm wrapped behind the chair, wildly waving his arms to make a point. The day was almost over and there was more energy contained within the man than the most active of people at the start of the day.

Even before coming to a conclusion, Akaashi was instinctively reaching for the glass jar containing a blend of chamomile and passionflower, scooping out a spoonful and dropping the dried flowers into the pot. He doubted it would have an effect on the man, but it was the best he could do.

He received a vague ‘thanks’ while he served them and then he returned to business, trying not to listen in. He did, however, strain his ears slightly when they began talking about the food.

“This isn’t as sweet as I thought it would be.” The disappointment came from Mr. Impeccable.

“Nothing’s ever sweet enough for you.”

“That’s because I’m already so sweet, Kuro-chan, even dessert can’t match up to the wonder that is Oikawa-san.”

Akaashi could finally put a name to a face, and also store this information. He doubted his baker would appreciate his craft being insulted.

“That’s… really cheesy, even for your standards.”

“Not cheese, _sugar_ —”

At that point Akaashi blocked out their voices and concentrated on the piano instead. He was left alone for what little time was left and the three were standing before he could mention it was five minutes to closing.

“Thank you for stopping by.”

“We’ll definitely be back for the afternoon tea,” Oikawa said, flashing another of his overly perfect smiles and a wink.

Akaashi paused, uncertain how he felt about that prospect, then righted himself – he was a professional. “I look forward to your visit.”

 

*

 

“Akaashi-kun, you’re the best.”

Shirofuku Yukie, the waitress working the shift today, cautiously took the bag of the previous day’s cakes from Akaashi like she was receiving treasure.

“I don’t get how you can eat all that after every shift and not gain a pound,” Konoha Akinori said, receiving his own bag.

“I could say the same for you,” Shirofuku said pleasantly. She hummed to herself while peering inside the brown paper bag to inspect the day’s yield.

“Anyway, how is it that, without fail, there’s always the exact amount left over at the end of each day for us to take home? Is Iwaizumi psychic?”

“You could always ask.”

“And risk concussion? No thanks.”

Iwaizumi was known for three things: his impressive baking skills, his more impressive strength and his most impressive ill temper. When he joined the tea room shortly after Akaashi received ownership, he became infamous among employees past and present for throwing bowls at whichever clueless soul dared disturb his focus. Any other workplace and he would have been fired, but Akaashi had known him since university when they played on the same volleyball team, and knew that Iwaizumi was a decent baker and human being (off the clock) so a couple of new kitchen equipments and members of staff later, Akaashi made sure to include a mini-lecture on his baker’s temperament and rules within the kitchen.

Iwaizumi’s work history aside, Akaashi turned Konoha’s question in his mind. Yesterday was slow compared to average, yet even with the surprise group at the end there was still the usual amount of food left over.

“Probably some kind of animal instinct,” Konoha muttered to himself.

“I heard that,” a voice yelled from the kitchen, making Konoha jump. Shirofuku giggled softly.

“I’m setting the tables,” Konoha said, hurrying to distance himself from Iwaizumi as much as physically possible. Shirofuku offered to help and Akaashi was left to make final checks before starting the day.

Secretly, he agreed with Konoha.

Akaashi walked to the kitchen to find Iwaizumi’s back to him while he worked the dough, which reminded him of the previous night’s comment. He hovered by the doorway, wondering whether or not it was worth mentioning.

“What?”

Iwaizumi had a knack for calling out lies; Konoha’s ‘animal instinct’ echoed in his mind.

“You received a complaint yesterday.”

Iwaizumi slowed his rhythm.

“About?”

“The scones. They weren’t sweet enough.”

His rhythm came to a halt.

“You served cream and jam, right?”

That almost didn’t warrant an answer.

“Of course,” Akaashi said stiffly, offended he had to be asked.

Iwaizumi restarted the rhythm. “Then ignore the idiot.”

“That was my intention.”

A queue had already formed outside when Akaashi opened shop, and he quickly forgot about the previous day as he tended to his customers. Afternoons were always busy even on weekdays, evenings grew busier cumulative to how close to the weekend they were. Akaashi always took a break at five-thirty, sitting on a crate deliberately abandoned outside the back door so that he could sit and eat onigiri. He returned to work when Iwaizumi came out to leave, and then it was on to the evening.

Two tables were occupied when Akaashi was back to manning the counter alone. One was a couple in their forties sitting by the window murmuring conversation between bouts of comfortable silence, the other a group of three women in their twenties speaking in mindful tones with the occasional burst of uncontrollable laughter or exclamation.

This was more his clientele, Akaashi contemplated as he dried teacups.

He wondered whether he should expect the previous night’s group to appear one afternoon. Likely Mr. Impeccable would be joined by friends other than the two yesterday, who hardly seemed the type to enjoy a slow afternoon of tea and conversation.

Bells chimed with vigour – lively, but not with the same violence as yesterday – drawing Akaashi’s attention to the door.

“Hey, hey, hey!”

All heads turned at the outburst, followed by soft giggling. The man (‘Bokkun’, Akaashi recalled) didn’t seem to notice or care as he released the door and strode up to the counter. He appeared closer to a student than a working adult with his tracksuit that looked too thin for the winter and a rucksack slung over his shoulder.

“You’re busier today!”

Akaashi sought for an insult behind the words, suspicious that as a friend of ‘Kuro-chan’ this man would have a similar characteristic of making passive snide remarks. The beaming smile and the gold that burned brighter than any lighting in the room told him otherwise, and he carefully concluded it was a genuine statement of observation.

“Sometimes other customers grace this establishment.”

The man opened his mouth, paused, then broke out into laughter; a rich, hearty laugh that filled Akaashi’s ears and, strangely, his chest.

It wasn’t his intention to be funny. In fact, he merely pointed out the obvious. And even by mistaking his statement for a joke, he wasn’t sure it warranted this level of amusement.

Still, he couldn’t deny he liked the sound of the man’s laugh.

“Can I sit here?” ‘Bokkun’ pointed to the empty table closest to the counter.

“Wherever is free,” Akaashi reminded.

Akaashi was curious as to whether his friends would be joining him.

“Only me today,” ‘Bokkun’ said in answer to Akaashi’s unspoken question, sliding into the chair with a view of the counter and away from the door; an odd choice of seating for a single customer, who usually preferred to avoid eye contact with the members of staff. “Kuroo and Oikawa – my friends who were with me yesterday – they couldn’t make it.”

Akaashi placed the menu, water and towel on the table, not at all disappointed that his friends wouldn’t be coming.

“I got lost a few times on the way, it’s hard to find in the dark! I like it though, it’s like trying to find a secret entrance.”

Would the man continue to talk at him? Should he stand by the table and wait for his order or should he leave now? Maybe he was expected to make a comment. Akaashi tucked the tray under his arm, joined his hands behind his back and began fidgeting. Small talk was not his forte. Not for lacking in interest in what others had to say, simply he didn’t like wasting words. He voiced his thoughts when he considered it truly necessary, and those situations were mostly limited to discussions with his employees and polite exchanges with regulars.

“That drink by the way, it really helped!” The man continued, unaware of Akaashi’s dilemma. “I actually fell straight to sleep as soon as I got home.”

Akaashi doubted one pot of tea could truly affect this highly energetic man. He may have said as much if he didn’t think the man meant what he said. Maybe he could put it down to placebo.

“Would you like the same this evening?”

“Yeah! And something sweet if there’s anything left.”

Akaashi didn’t mention there was always something left.

He walked away with the menu, deciding to offer the lone cupcake sitting in the casing on top of the counter before working on the tea.

“Have you been here long?”

Akaashi looked up to find the man leaning on his arms, staring intently. He blinked, feeling a warmth creep up his neck; it wasn’t as though people didn’t watch him work, he needn’t feel so embarrassed.

He averted his gaze. “Five years.”

“You’re pretty young to be owning a cafe.”

“Tea room,” Akaashi corrected a little too sharply, returning to his task of measuring out tea. And twenty-eight was hardly young. Then again, he had always felt like an old soul trapped inside a young body with his quiet demeanour, calm responses and contemplative nature.

Akaashi regretted the hostile intonation and continued the conversation as a peace offering.

“What gives you the impression I’m the owner?”

“You’re the only one manning the counter two nights in a row. It makes sense.”

The man didn’t sound offended and was more observant than he looked.

“It was originally my aunt’s,” Akaashi said, surprising himself for two nights in a row by offering personal information. Even his regulars weren’t so lucky to know his background, yet here he was, lured in by the man’s friendliness.

“Family business, huh?”

Akaashi brought the order to the man’s table, throwing another glance at the man’s eyes – the gold danced at the sight of the tea and cake laid before him.

“Enjoy your tea,” Akaashi said with an air of finality and returned to the counter.

The couple left first – only dregs remained in their cups when he last checked so it wasn’t going to be long before they left. Seeing them exit, he was once again drawn to the man before him, now hunched over a large spiral notebook, furiously scratching at the paper with a pencil (a real, wooden pencil, and he wasn’t sure when he last saw someone use it to write with), tongue sticking out.

What an odd man, Akaashi concluded.

The group of three left some time after, likely they didn’t want to return home too late when one day remained in the work week. It was now past ten – the chances of anyone else entering (besides the possibility of more of the man’s friends) were slim. Akaashi turned to the jars of tea, calculating approximate measures and which would need more refills.

“Why did your aunt leave you the ca – tea room?”

He turned to find the man clasping the teacup in both hands, notebook closed and placed beside the plate of crumbs.

“She wanted to move to the country. I believe she opened another tea room adjoined to her home.”

“You haven’t visited?”

“This place leaves me little time for vacations. But we write occasionally.”

The cup with floral paintings looked even more fragile in the man’s hands as he lifted the porcelain to his lips. Looks were deceiving was what people said, but Akaashi didn’t think he needed to second-guess the man’s power. Could the man accidentally crush the cup, Akaashi pondered.

“I’m a junior high school teacher,” the man interrupted his thoughts. “Physical education. I also coach the volleyball team – they’re really strong, you know! Well, they weren’t strong enough to win the championships this year... but definitely next year!”

Akaashi straightened at the mention of volleyball. He hadn’t played since university – it was a sport that needed forward planning, scheduling, and more than a half-hearted interest, not to mention time outside that dedicated to the tea room – but the pang in his chest, for reasons good and bad, was there as a reminder of days past.

“It’s on the other side of Tokyo – I live near the school too. Oikawa lives around here which is how we found this place. I like the atmosphere a lot. And the tea! And the cakes!”

Akaashi couldn’t help the corner of his lips turn slightly upward.

“Then I should thank you for taking the trouble to visit.”

“No trouble! Honestly, Kuroo’s always complaining that I don’t go out enough, so really you’re doing me a favour.”

Silence stretched between them. Akaashi went to the earlier occupied tables and began clearing plates. Was he always this talkative? As questions filled his head and preoccupied his mind, he found that he was moving the last of the cups into the kitchen and when he returned the man was already standing by the cashier.

“I’m Bokuto. Bokuto Koutarou. I figured you might want to put a name to a face if I’m going to come by more often. If you don’t mind that is.”

Akaashi paused working the cashier. “I have no desire to drive out a customer who enjoys the atmosphere and services of this tea room,” and as an afterthought added, “Bokuto-san.”

“Great! I won’t be by tomorrow because of extra practice, but Saturday – are you open weekends?”

“We’re closed Tuesdays.”

“I’ll remember that! Um…”

Bokuto stared expectantly, as though Akaashi should be finishing the sentence for him.

It finally clicked.

“Akaashi. Akaashi Keiji.”

“Akaashi! All right! See you Saturday!”

And with a smile that made Akaashi blink several times, Bokuto waved and disappeared out of the store. The afterglow of his eyes burned in his vision.

“What an odd man,” Akaashi quietly said to the room, though he wasn’t sure why he felt the need to voice it out loud, or whether his speculation was correct.

 

*

 

True to his word, Bokuto arrived around the same time of nine-thirty on the Saturday, and every night after (excluding Tuesdays and Fridays). Quiet evenings were now filled with anecdotes on student antics, improvements within the volleyball team, exchanges between teachers, and general musings on a wide range of topics. Even the mundane such as the weather was interesting to listen to when it was Bokuto speaking, who came up with thoughts so out of the box that Akaashi also had to give his replies serious consideration.

His knowledge on Bokuto also accumulated with every meeting. Bokuto liked great horned owls because they looked strong, but disliked weasels because he was bitten by one at a petting zoo as a child. Bokuto liked Mondays because his team had extended practice sessions, but disliked Saturday morning lessons because weekends should be reserved for relaxing (or in Bokuto’s case, extra volleyball practice.) Sometimes Akaashi would realise too late that he accidentally revealed something about himself and Bokuto failed to let the topic go no matter how much Akaashi tried to refocus his attention back to Bokuto. Always he would look up to find Bokuto staring, his face gradually burning from its intensity until he had to break eye contact to compose himself.

Tuesday evening three weeks later, Akaashi looked up from his book to see it was precisely nine-thirty to expect a ‘hey, hey, hey!’ to resound in his bedroom, and he had to accept that Bokuto had barged his way into Akaashi’s life as loudly and assured as the first evening they met.

The following day, Akaashi was beginning to grow tired of glancing at the clock in increments of five or ten minutes.

“Did something good happen?”

He paused transferring cakes onto plates to look up at Matsukawa Issei working the shift today.

“What do you mean?”

“...Clearly my mistake.” Matsukawa lifted the tray of drinks and carried them away.

Matsukawa’s smile shifted from ‘approachable waiter’ to ‘approachable waiter who discovered a secret on his employer’; it was almost unnoticeable. Almost.

The problem with having older (and taller) employees was that while Akaashi outranked everyone in the workplace, everyone outranked him in terms of life experience, using the additional one or two years (and centimetres) to their advantage.

“You look like you’re expecting something. Delivery on a new brand of tea? Iwaizumi working on a new creation?” This comment was thrown in from Hanamaki Takahiro as he walked past.

Akaashi, holding a pound cake between a pair of tongs, turned 180 degrees to follow Hanamaki’s movements.

“Expecting?” He asked the man who disappeared into the kitchen.

“You’re restless,” Matsukawa said from behind. “Will you be serving that?”

Akaashi turned full circle back to face Matsukawa, placing the cake onto the remaining empty plate. “Restless?”

Matsukawa finally looked him in the eye before whisking the tray from the counter and Akaashi felt like he should know what was being conveyed in the silent message.

“You keep checking the time,” Hanamaki came back to stand beside Akaashi, a wide grin on his face. “Also, we know you’re a man of few words, but you usually do better than parroting. So? What is it we’re expecting today, Akaashi-san?”

The formal suffix was only used when he was being teased (the irony of the owner addressing everyone with ‘san’ and all his employees dropping it from his name was not lost on him.)

“Maybe not what, but who, Hanamaki-san,” Matsukawa said upon his return.

“Ah, I stand corrected, Matsukawa-san,” Hanamaki nodded gravely.

“Maybe we shouldn’t pry into our employer’s personal life, Hanamaki-san.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Matsukawa-san.”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa made a good team, both hardworking, reliable individuals whom Akaashi could trust.

Occasionally they turned into a comedy duo at Akaashi’s expense and he would wish for the nine hoots so he could promptly send them home.

Unfortunately that was not for another half an hour.

“Hanamaki-san, Matsukawa-san, I’m not expecting anything or anyone.”

Akaashi was not proud of lying. He was proud he managed to keep his tone neutral at the last word.

Hanamaki smirked. Matsukawa raised his eyebrows. They exchanged a look.

“It seems we were wrong, Matsukawa-san.”

“It would seem so, Hanamaki-san.”

Akaashi took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and walked away into the kitchen.

 

*

 

“Akaaaashiiii, sit here and talk.”

This was the fifth time Bokuto tried to persuade Akaashi to accompany him at the table.

“It would be unprofessional if a customer were to walk in and see me slacking,” Akaashi said flatly, not bothering to look up.

He paused and backtracked. At what point did their relationship move beyond acquaintances so that Akaashi no longer hesitated to respond to the man’s whining like they were friends?

“No one’s gonna think you’re slacking, and I haven’t seen anyone come in this late since I started coming here!”

“I’d like to remind you that you and your friends did.”

Bokuto waved his arms in the air. “That doesn’t count! Come on Akaashi, how often do customers come in after eleven?”

Akaashi recalled the Days Before Bokuto. Last June maybe, during rainy season. It was too weak an argument, Bokuto would just yell ‘see?!’ and whine some more.

“I want to talk to you face to face, is that so bad? You know what, if you’re not gonna sit, I’m gonna stand in front of the counter until you close.”

And with that threat, Bokuto began to gather his belongings together.

Akaashi sighed. He folded and placed his towel onto the counter and walked up to the table, noting Bokuto’s face light up when took the seat opposite.

“I won’t be afraid to cut you off if anyone walks through the door,” he warned. At least he had a view of the door so he could quickly return to work if needed.

“I get that, don’t worry! So like I was saying—”

Bokuto continued talking about the last practice match with a rival team whose coach he disliked because of the rude manner in which he spoke to his students.

Usually Akaashi had no problems in concentrating on what was being said, but by sitting close he was drawn to Bokuto’s dynamic presence and athletic physique – broad shoulders, forearm muscles defined by strong grooves, large hands endearingly smudged with graphite. He imagined that receiving a hug from Bokuto would be like being wrapped in a thick, warm blanket, its weight providing complete security.

“Oh!” Akaashi’s eyes snapped up at the exclamation. “I forgot I need to type up reports”

Bokuto opened his notebook to begin scribbling notes. Akaashi peered over.

“Do you mind me asking what the notebook is for?”

“This?” Bokuto turned the planner around to face Akaashi. “It’s my school planner. Meetings, reminders, that sort of thing.”

He went into a page-by-page description of his timetable (rather packed with lessons, practice, homeroom and various duties), his weekly schedule – even the lunch menu, which hadn’t changed much since Akaashi’s time at school. A certain point in the pages were crammed with small circles within rectangles and arrows flying all over the place, confident strokes floating in all available spaces that were less a language and more indecipherable scratches.

“Formations, team profiles, skill sets, weaknesses, anything I can think of I’ll write it down,” Bokuto said proudly.

Akaashi was impressed.

“Did you play?”

“Yeah, in high school and university. Didn’t get far though. Don’t get me wrong, I was really good when I played well! I just had these… moods. If something didn’t go right I couldn’t get myself out of the funk. None of the teams I was with knew how to deal with that so I’d get taken off court to cool my head.”

Akaashi observed Bokuto thumbing the corner of his book, his confident aura shrinking.

“Coach used to say I had the potential to become an ace – even among the top players in the country! Except, well, I was a liability. Maybe if I’d pulled myself together I could’ve become a professional, huh?”

His tone suggested a joke, if only his grin reached his eyes and he didn’t avert his eyes glazed with disappointment to somewhere behind Akaashi, beyond the physical and into the hazy realms of reminiscence.

Akaashi looked down at his hands in his lap, threading and rethreading his fingers. Other people might have been resentful of opportunities lost, though Akaashi knew Bokuto was incapable of harbouring such ill thoughts. Still, it didn’t seem fair that Bokuto couldn’t further his volleyball career when he had so much potential.

“It might have been different if I were setting,” Akaashi murmured.

“You’re a setter?!”

Bokuto thrust himself halfway across the table. Akaashi’s face began to burn at the sudden proximity.

“Were. I played at school and university.”

Just as quickly Bokuto leaned back in his chair, groaning and covering his eyes with one hand. “I should’ve asked! Now I feel like an idiot for explaining all the terms to you.”

“I enjoyed listening to your explanations,” Akaashi reassured.

When Bokuto withdrew his hand the sparkle of enthusiasm was back in his eyes. “We should play sometime! We definitely have enough people for three on three. I’d love you to set for me.”

Akaashi’s heartbeat skipped at the last phrasing, a forgotten feeling that jarred his memories enough to realise why he had been expecting Bokuto, why he had been drawn to his eyes and smile. His palms grew damp at the revelation, his fidgeting increased.

“—I’m sure Kuroo would know someone… or you could bring someone from your university? It could be like the battle of graduates! Oh, but then we’d be on opposing teams, that wouldn’t work—”

Bokuto was oblivious to Akaashi’s internal panic at naming the emotion that made itself home in his chest.

He began working here because he wanted to forget his past and immerse himself with anything that wouldn’t involve romance. How could he fall in love if he was too busy?

No, this wasn’t love yet. Love came later, after confessions and reciprocation and dating and time – plenty of time. At most this was mild attraction, Akaashi convinced himself, ignoring the small voice in his head that asked whether he had experienced the same spark with past partners.

This was why he maintained boundaries between himself and his customers. How had Bokuto slipped through his guard – Bokuto was the type of person to trip all the alarms and be standing in the searchlight because he mistook it for a spotlight, he wasn’t stealthy or deceitful enough to sneak through Akaashi’s defences.

“Akaashi? Are you okay?”

Bokuto’s concerned face came into view, the distance between their faces shrinking and sending Akaashi into further confusion.

“Y-yes… yes, I’m sorry.”

“You look tired—” Bokuto turned to check the clock and jumped out of his chair. “It’s past twelve! I should go!”

He began ramming his belongings into his bag.

Akaashi also stood up, thinking he should do something, knowing he could do nothing. “I’m sorry, I should have noticed—”

“Don’t worry! How much do I owe you?”

“Bokuto-san, you’ll miss the last train—”

“It won’t take long—”

“Pay me tomorrow—”

“I can’t do that—”

“You won’t be returning?”

It was supposed to be a half-hearted comment, one returned with loud protests, lots of head shaking and arm waving, a response that fitted Akaashi’s profile of the man.

Instead, Bokuto stilled.

And with him, everything.

Softening trails of piano dissolved into silence. Seconds on the clock ticked slowly to a halt. Akaashi’s own body, too; his lungs clung to his last breath. His heartbeat stopped.

Only golden flames burned with fervour incinerating all thought, rendering him immobile as all he could do was watch, and wait.

“Course I will.”

Bokuto’s smile fired up the world, a clash of music and ticks and beats that were too loud to follow the silence, and a single question kindled in his mind.

 _What_ _did_ _it_ _mean?_

For once, his choices were blank.

“Pay me tomorrow,” Akaashi managed to breathe.

Bokuto nodded furiously, oblivious that he had just stopped the world. “Okay!”

He threw the rucksack over his shoulder and rushed out with a flurry of apologies, leaving only a gust of cold air to brush Akaashi’s face.

Joining his customer for tea. Relaying personal information. Overrunning work hours. Refusing payment. Everything about today destroyed everything Akaashi had carefully built over the years, and he stood alone, replaying the final conversation in his head to the rapid beat in his chest.

He reached out slowly, carefully lifting the empty cup and saucer with trembling hands.

 

*

 

All day Thursday, his insides fluttered and pounded and twisted, making him queasy and feeling too old to be experiencing emotions of a teenager. Thankfully Konoha and Shirofuku saved him from interrogation, although Iwaizumi did throw a scrutinising stare when Akaashi answered he was feeling fine. It was a battle of will not to look at the clock until his employees left, and at nine-thirty he glanced expectantly at the door, waiting for it to swing open at any moment.

At ten he assumed practice was running late.

At ten-thirty he put it down to trains.

At eleven he was ready to scold the man for coming in after last orders (but was still prepared to serve him.)

And after clean-up took twice as long, Akaashi flicked the lights off.

A: Bokuto had forgotten a prior engagement.

He scratched that option furiously in his head with thick, heavy lines that resembled Bokuto’s pencil. Bokuto always checked his schedule in the evenings, and his memory can’t have been so bad as to forget within the two and a half hours he spent in the tea room.

Akaashi opened the door, burying his nose under his scarf as the night air clawed his skin.

B: Bokuto had no intention of paying him back.

A total of three weeks was not enough to definitively gauge a person. But Bokuto was honest and direct and Akaashi couldn’t imagine those golden eyes hiding ulterior motives. He almost wished they did, because then he wouldn’t have to believe the dreaded third option.

Akaashi closed the door to a single hoot and pushed the key into the lock.

C: Bokuto caught on that Akaashi may be interested but was unable to reciprocate and it was awkward for him to return.

Thinking about it, he didn’t know Bokuto’s sexual orientation or his preferred type, and nothing suggested he was attracted to Akaashi. Maybe Akaashi had dreamt up the previous night’s sign, a form of revenge for depriving himself of love for so long.

Akaashi rested his forehead against the icy pane and cursed himself for stupidly believing he had a chance.


	2. Apple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read the first chapter and left kudos/comments, I wasn't expecting such a response so it was nice to know you enjoyed it :3
> 
> I'm going to attempt posting weekly, but... best not hold me to it.

“Good afternoon, Akaashi—!”  
  
Akaashi looked up. Hanamaki stood unmoving by the doorway, staring back.  
  
“—San. Akaashi-san. It is not a good afternoon. It is a dark, pitiful, miserable afternoon, and I will go change and get to work immediately.”  
  
Apparently formalities extended to days following sleepless nights, Akaashi made a vague mental note as Hanamaki scurried past.  
  
When he checked the mirror this morning he didn’t think he looked too bad considering he had been staring into the darkness battling with his thoughts, snatching a handful of minutes here and there with the false pretense of sleep until his mind picked up a new trail. He did have dark rings under his eyes so Hanamaki wasn’t all that mistaken. Pitiful… possibly. Miserable, maybe.  
  
Aching? Absolutely.  
  
Urgent hisses and steady murmurs wafted from the kitchen; Akaashi wasn’t so ignorant that he didn’t know the topic of conversation. It was only Hanamaki who greeted him oddly, Iwaizumi and Konoha didn’t act out of the ordinary. At least not until they opened.  
  
Konoha and Hanamaki constantly interrupted him, grabbing whatever it was he was doing and pushing him aside to ‘take a break’ or ‘take it easy’ or ‘take ten’. Their efforts were actually counterproductive. For instance, an extra half an hour was forced upon him as they literally pushed him out of the shop, Iwaizumi’s blurry form hovering behind the frosted glass as he stood guard. While that initially seemed like they had his best interests, it was in fact an additional thirty minutes he would spend deliberating on the mistakes he had made that night.  
  
The back door opened and Iwaizumi stepped out. “Go home early,” he grumbled as he left.  
  
It all made Akaashi feel worse.  
  
When he returned three tables were occupied and served, and Konoha stood muttering something to Hanamaki who was seated on the stool. They both straightened when they noticed Akaashi.  
  
“You can stay out longer, it’s not busy.”  
  
“Konoha-san, Hanamaki-san, I appreciate the concern but it’s really not necessary.”  
  
“It’s hard not to be concerned when you’re looking like an extra from the annual zombie walk,” Hanamaki said bluntly, earning an elbow in the ribs from Konoha.  
  
“What he means is, holding it in isn’t healthy. If you aren’t going to talk to us, at least talk to Iwaizumi.”  
  
“But you know we’d also do anything to help,” Hanamaki piped up. “Especially if it’s to do with relationship advice, you’ve got a consultant right here.”  
  
“Because you’re such an expert.”  
  
“Yes, actually. Matsukawa can testify.”  
  
If Hanamaki and Matsukawa were a comedy act, Hanamaki and Konoha were either a formidable tag team or a couple of bickering old men – throw Iwaizumi into the mix and Akaashi might as well have changed the sign to read ‘nursing home’. He was too exhausted to send them home early and tend to the tea room himself, he was also too exhausted to listen to their verbal ping pong, and he was too exhausted to be left alone with his thoughts and all he wanted was something unrelated that would give him a break from the noise—  
  
The door chimed open and he breathed a sigh of relief, which was short lived.  
  
“There you are, Akaashi-chan.”  
  
An undignified sound between a snort and a choke escaped from Hanamaki.  
  
The man responsible for disrupting his life strode up to the counter, perfectly-styled hair bouncing in time with his pace as he pulled off his leather gloves.  
  
Akaashi didn’t pretend not to know his name. “Oikawa-san.”  
  
“I’ll have the same tea as before plus that cupcake there and you can put it on Bokkun’s tab, he owes me for this.” He peered over his glasses. “You look terrible.”  
  
“Bokkun? Tab?” Hanamaki repeated slowly, sounding incredulous that Akaashi would know anyone by such a ridiculous nickname or that Akaashi would readily hand out tabs.  
  
“Bokuto-san doesn’t have a tab,” Akaashi said, tone void of emotion.  
  
“Oh? That’s strange because he mentioned he still needs to pay you for his order the other night. Speaking of, he apologises for not coming in yesterday when he promised, he’s down with a cold. One that’s strong enough to keep him incapacitated which is a miracle in itself, hence why Oikawa-san is here to resolve the issue and save the day!”  
  
Bokuto had a cold. It was so simple it didn’t even occur to him to add it to his list.  
  
Akaashi’s stupidity reached a whole new level.  
  
Oikawa’s hum sounding like he had seen something very interesting brought Akaashi back to reality, and his smile was too similar to Matsukawa’s the other night.  
  
“Bokkun was sure you’d gotten the wrong idea. He was right, wasn’t he?”  
  
Under the scrutiny of Oikawa’s analytical stare, Akaashi averted his eyes to the cupcakes.  
  
“Your order will be ready shortly,” he said, bringing his gaze back up to lock with Oikawa’s, “if you would like to take a seat.”  
  
Seconds stretched between them as they stared each other down. Oikawa was the first to straighten and break contact, shaking his head and managing to make Akaashi feel like he lost.  
  
“Ignoring the question only confirms my suspicions, Akaashi-chan.” He reached into his inside pocket, pulling out and holding in front of Akaashi’s face the reverse side of a business card with a row of straight and evenly spaced digits accompanied by ‘Bokkun’s number☆’ and a winking smiley sticking out its tongue. “Call him, so you can tell him directly that I, being the wonderful friend I am, came as messenger and he can stop pestering me every five minutes with messages that aren’t even intelligible.”  
  
Akaashi slowly drew the card from between Oikawa’s fingers. His mission accomplished, Oikawa strode to the table by the windowsill.  
  
“We can hold the fort while you make the call.”  
  
Konoha was leaning against the shelf with his arms folded having watched the whole interaction. Hanamaki, now standing next to him, had a huge grin plastered on his face contrasting Konoha’s almost bored expression.  
  
“I’ll call after work.”  
  
“At midnight? Kinda rude.”  
  
“Then tomorrow.”  
  
“And traumatise your friend all night?”  
  
“Oikawa-san is not a friend, he is a customer.”  
  
Konoha held his hands up. “I was talking about ‘Bokuto-san’ but what you said is worse.”  
  
Before Akaashi could reply, Hanamaki’s hands were on his shoulders maneuvering him into the kitchen.  
  
“Come on, you don’t want to create an even bigger misunderstanding with this ‘Bokkun’ of yours!” Hanamaki said too brightly.  
  
“He’s not—”  
  
“Konoha and I can manage – take a break, boss man Akaashi-san!”  
  
Hanamaki ushered him outside, pressed Akaashi’s phone into his hand (when he had retrieved it Akaashi didn’t know) and to make a point slammed the door firmly shut.  
  
Akaashi stared at the door for a few seconds, then down at the number.  
  
He dialled each digit slowly, careful not to misdial while his hands began to shake from the cold, until his thumb hovered over the call button. Changing his mind, he swiped the screen away, opting to message instead. It had nothing to do with nerves; if Bokuto was ill then he would (should) be asleep and should therefore not be disturbed.  
  
_This is Akaashi Keiji. I received your number from Oikawa-san. He explained what happened. Please feel better soon._  
  
Akaashi paused, hit ‘send’ and immediately turned off the screen.  
  
He didn’t even finish releasing his breath when his phone began to vibrate.  
  
He should have known Bokuto would be awake.  
  
After the fifth buzz he answered. “Hello?”  
  
“ _Akaashi! It’s Bokuto!”_  
  
The words came out as a mash of consonants barely interpretable and either Bokuto was an expert at feigning sickness or, as Oikawa mentioned, he was very, very ill.  
  
“ _I’m really sorry about yesterday, I didn’t want you to think I’d taken advantage, I’d never do anything like that_ — _”_  
  
“Bokuto-san, I understand. As I said, Oikawa-san explained everything.”  
  
_“I’ll_ _come again, I promise! As soon as I can get out of bed. Or sit up without the room moving. Or without passing it onto you.”_  
  
Akaashi huffed a small laugh, releasing the night’s worries and day’s temperament with the fading breath. “Please just concentrate on making yourself better.”  
  
_“A… Akaashi, was that a laugh? Did I just make you laugh?”_  
  
Akaashi wasn’t sure what was so surprising, surely he had laughed at some point during their conversations. “Yes...?”  
  
The sound at the other end was either in frustration or because he blew his nose.  
  
_“And I wasn’t there to see it!”_ (He supposed it was the former.) _“You’ll be the first person I visit when I’m better.”_  
  
“I’m not sure your school or volleyball team will approve so I advise you return to work first. But I’ll be here waiting to see you again.”  
  
Did that make him sound eager? Did he just reveal his secret attraction? Was that too much for a tea room owner speaking to his regular customer—?  
  
_“I can’t wait to see you! Oh… that was too loud, my head’s beginning to hurt.”_  
  
“Get some rest, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi encouraged.  
  
_“Right. I really am—”_ A loud yawn shaped his last few words into a warble. _“Night, Akaashi.”_  
  
And just like that, the line cut off, leaving Akaashi numb with shock (or from the cold, it was a fine line.) Thankfully the door was unlocked and he returned to one less table occupied and Hanamaki and Konoha still behind the counter on standby.  
  
Konoha straightened when he caught sight of Akaashi.  
  
“All sorted?”  
  
“I believe so. Thank you.”

Two girls sitting two tables apart crept up to Oikawa, who blinked up from his phone at their inaudible mutters that were quickly erased by his laugh.  
  
“Of course! It’s always nice to meet fans!”  
  
There were squeals, handshakes, a few selfie shots on everyone’s phones and the girls returned to their seats with broad smiles, whispering and pointing at the photos they had just taken.

“I didn’t know you were friendly with the in-crowd,” Hanamaki nodded to the side at who Akaashi presumed was Oikawa.  
  
“You know him?” Konoha asked.  
  
“I know of him. He’s the current big thing in social media. Matsukawa sometimes works with him on the odd modelling job.”  
  
Konoha pulled a face. “Since when does he model?”  
  
“Since he was asked? He’s got the height for it – I thought you followed his account? Why did you think he posted all those photos of himself?”  
  
Konoha shrugged. “I thought he really liked himself.”  
  
Hanamaki snorted and shaking his head replied, “Nah, that’s Oikawa you’re talking about.”  
  
As if he knew he was being talked about, Oikawa caught sight of their stares and flagged them down.  
  
“Akaashi-chan!”  
  
A hand was on Akaashi’s back shoving him stumbling forward.  
  
“Go on _, Akaashi-chan._ ”  
  
Akaashi stopped and looked over his shoulder.  
  
“Hanamaki-san, if you address me by that name again I will have to inform Iwaizumi-san that you took the initiative of ‘cleaning up’ the last profiterole before leaving on Monday.”  
  
He didn’t need to stay to know the panic settling on Hanamaki’s face.  
  
Oikawa was pouring his tea as Akaashi approached, noting it to be his second cup.  
  
“Oikawa-san, I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t call me by that name. Also, if you could keep your voice down.”  
  
“I don’t take requests on name changes.” Oikawa added a dash of milk, gave the drink a quick swirl to a perfect golden brown before lifting the cup to his lips. “I would like you to join me at the table though,” he said, his eyes locked onto Akaashi as he took a sip.  
  
“As you can see, I’m currently working.”  
  
“Still holding the fort,” Konoha said from behind, placing an extra cup of tea by the empty chair opposite.  
  
This here was a fine example of having employees who were too competent.  
  
Now he had to comply, only so as not to waste the valuable drink. He slipped into the chair, perching on the edge to emphasise he would not be getting comfortable. “Five minutes, Oikawa-san.”  
  
Oikawa smiled like he won another game Akaashi didn’t know they were playing. “I didn’t get to properly introduce myself. Oikawa Tooru, influencer, blogger and friend of Bokkun’s.”  
  
“Akaashi Keiji,” he said stiffly. “I own this tea room.”  
  
“I’m aware.” Oikawa peeled off the cupcake liner and broke off a small piece. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Maybe a little too much.”  
  
Akaashi wondered what that meant as Oikawa popped the cake into his mouth, chewing slowly, staring back down at the cupcake.  
  
“Is there a problem?”  
  
“I thought I was wrong last time but I don’t know what it is, it just lacks this… _oomph_.” Oikawa seemed to remember who he was talking to and quickly amended his complaint. “Oh, I’m just fussy, you wouldn’t be doing so well in this area if it wasn’t any good. I hear you’re busy in the afternoons. Quiet in the evenings though.”  
  
Akaashi decided Oikawa didn’t mean it as an insult. “Sandwiches and cakes aren’t the most fulfilling of meals.”  
  
Oikawa hummed half in agreement, half in thought as he ate another bite. Akaashi wasn’t sure why they were talking management so took to drinking his tea instead until Oikawa finished – clearly the cupcake was worthy of being eaten. He supposed be would have to inform Iwaizumi again.  
  
“I’m curious,” Oikawa said, pushing the plate away and resting his head on his hands, lips curling into a predatory grin like fox observing a small bird. “What exactly is your relationship with Bokkun?”  
  
Akaashi faltered; how should he classify their relationship? Were they merely acquaintances or had they crossed over into friendship? Excluding assistance of online platforms, in reality no one made announcements on friendship status past primary school.  
  
He decided to stick closest to the truth.  
  
“Bokuto-san is a customer. I take and serve his orders.”  
  
The glint in Oikawa’s darkened eyes made Akaashi shift in his seat.  
  
“Are we talking here or someplace else?”  
  
Akaashi frowned. “Where else would I be talking about?”  
  
Oikawa paused, mouth open, and whatever he was going to say disappeared with his laugh. “Oh, Akaashi-chan. You’re just as innocent!”  
  
That, or Oikawa was making no sense.  
  
“I think you’d be good, though Kuro-chan’s a bit more protective, it might take a little more to win him over.”  
  
“I’m sorry, what—”  
  
“Sorry, Akaashi-chan, despite Bokkun thinking I’m idle I really do have someplace to be – the hardships of working for yourself, you have to take what you can and schedule everything yourself. I’m sure you understand.”  
  
Akaashi could sympathise, up until the point Oikawa drained the remainder of his drink.  
  
“I’ll be sure to drop by again, I still haven’t tried the afternoon tea. Oh, and don’t forget, this goes on Bokkun’s tab.”  
  
“Wait—”  
  
Akaashi scrambled up but Oikawa was already sweeping across the room, giving a small wave to the girls he had been speaking to earlier as he made his exit.  
  
He supposed he would have to draw up a tab.

 

*

  
  
Ten days, the clock showing eight fifteen, and six out of nine occupied tables was why Akaashi’s guard was down when it happened.  
  
The unexpected popularity would have been counted as an anomaly if it wasn’t already the third consecutive evening they were busy – so much so Akaashi was constantly eyeing the casings, counting and recounting the number of desserts that were left. Luckily (to the dismay of his employees) the leftovers stretched to the end of the evening. He would have to have a word with Iwaizumi whose animal instinct didn’t seem to incorporate a boost in business.  
  
“Did you do an interview we don’t know about?” Konoha asked, readying trays with drinks. “Some TV crew come in to do a coverage?”  
  
“Maybe that morning show with the cute presenter,” Shirofuku added hopefully as she spread out plates.  
  
Before Akaashi could answer, the bells clamoured and a white and yellow blur swept in and dropped to the floor, and Akaashi stood there, glass jar in one hand, measuring spoon in the other.  
  
“Akaashi, I’m so sorry!”  
  
It took a second to register that the man bowing to the ground as Bokuto, the room’s chatter had died down as everyone’s attention went to the dramatic scene only seen on the screen, and he would need to fill two more teapots, one with Darjeeling and one with Breakfast.  
  
He dropped what he was holding and walked calmly over, crouching down.  
  
“Bokuto-san, I said it’s fine—”  
  
“It’s not fine!” Bokuto lowered himself further so his face was pressed against the wooden flooring. “I said I would return and pay and I didn’t!”  
  
“You were ill—”  
  
“I should have dragged myself out!”  
  
“Please stand up—”  
  
“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea—”  
  
Loud claps punctuated the air and Akaashi turned to find Konoha walking up to them.  
  
“Okay, okay, ‘Bokuto-san’, is it? You’re creating a scene and disrupting everyone’s evening and more importantly, embarrassing Akaashi, so maybe you can get up and seat yourself at that table in that corner and order something to make up for whatever it is you did. Akaashi, take five and go with him to sort out whatever it is that happened. Everyone else, it was entertaining if a little melodramatic but there’s nothing left to see here, have an extra pot of tea on us for the disturbance.”  
  
Bokuto looked up, dawning on him that he was the centre of attention, slowly stood, Akaashi standing with him.  
  
“Go on,” Konoha said, nudging Akaashi. “We’ll bring something to drink.”  
  
Akaashi nodded in gratitude. “The relaxing blend.”  
  
“No need to tell me, you both look like you need it,” Konoha rolled his eyes and returned to the counter.

Akaashi could ignore the stares as he followed Bokuto, but not the raised heartbeat as he watched his broad back. They took their seats at opposite sides.

“It’s busier,” Bokuto said, eyes wandering around the room and pausing at the table by the counter. “Even my table’s taken.”  
  
Akaashi glanced across the room, relieved to find customers returning to their conversations. “I’m not quite sure why, although I can’t complain.”  
   
“I really am sorry for the other night. And, er, I guess this. I didn’t mean to cause a scene.”  
  
Akaashi returned his attention to Bokuto with a small smile to reassure the man.  
  
“I’m just glad to see you well. I must admit, you don’t seem the type to be beaten by colds so easily.”  
  
“Ah, yeah.” Bokuto looked away with a sheepish smile. “That’s my fault. It started raining while I was making my way home.”  
  
Akaashi’s face fell as guilt crept up from his stomach. “You missed the last train?”  
  
“Oh. Well. Not exactly.”  
  
Akaashi frowned but remained quiet, letting the man finish.  
  
“I felt pumped after I left so decided to go for a run – expend a bit of energy you know? And somewhere around Yotsuya it started to rain. It was pouring down when I got home and I was just too tired to do anything except go to bed.”  
  
Akaashi repeated the sentence in his head, rearranged it with additional details from that evening and said slowly, “It’s mid-winter and you went for a run in inappropriate sportswear in the early hours of the morning, in the rain, and proceeded to fall asleep without taking the necessary precautions of properly drying or warming yourself.”  
  
Bokuto laughed nervously. “It sounds a lot worse when you put it like that.”  
  
Shirofuku arrived to serve them, rescuing Bokuto from more of Akaashi's scrutiny.  
  
“Don’t mind me,” she singsonged, humming as she set the tea set down. “Interesting hairstyle, Bokuto-san. Kind of like an owl.”  
  
“Really?! Thanks!”  
  
Akaashi wasn’t sure Shirofuku meant it as a compliment, but it didn’t matter with the way Bokuto beamed at her. Sitting across from Bokuto was as regular as sitting with Iwaizumi or Konoha or anyone else, no intimacy, no intensity, just two friends sharing a table together. It confirmed that what he thought he had felt between them was imagined.  
  
“Akaashi, you know I like you, right?”  
  
Akaashi’s mind whirred into action.  
  
A: He misheard. He must have done. Bokuto said it so casually, like he was stating a normal fact or observation, no fluster, no exaggerated gestures, not even a shift of softness or fieriness to his eyes. Perhaps he said ‘I’m like you’. Was he alone? A workaholic? An over thinker? He could match nothing of himself with what he knew of Bokuto.  
  
Probability of A: 10%  
  
“Oikawa said you might not have realised it, so I wanted to put it out there—”  
  
B: ‘Like’ in this case meant the same as ‘I like tea’ or ‘I like volleyball’’ or ‘I like imagining I’m at karaoke where they’ve secretly set up cameras and they realise how awesome my singing is so I end up with a record deal’ (the last was courtesy of a conversation overheard yesterday between Hanamaki and Shirofuku, who replied, “Same here, except mine’s at an all-you-can-eat contest.”) Bokuto liked Akaashi. As a friend. Strictly platonic.  
  
Probability of B: 87%  
  
“—I thought you might have already guessed cause I’m not exactly what you call subtle—”  
  
C: I like you

= I’m attracted to you

= I’d like to date you

= I’d like to get to know you more intimately

= I’d like to have sex with you  
  
Probability of C: 3%  
  
“—But then I realised that I hadn’t been direct about how I feel about you, and I can’t call myself a wing spiker if I can’t deliver a straight shot. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to! I mean, it’d be nice if I knew how you felt. Even if you don’t feel the same way. I’d still come here! As long as it’s not awkward for you.”

C (amended): I like you

= I’m attracted to you

(deferred:

= I’d like to date you

= I’d like to get to know you more intimately

= I’d like to have sex with you)

Probability of C (amended): 99%  
  
Akaashi finally regained the ability to function his mouth.  
  
“Am I correct in thinking you’re romantically interested?”  
  
Bokuto widened his eyes, a grin creeping onto his face at the realisation that Akaashi understood what he was saying. “Yeah!”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Bokuto cocked his head slightly. “Why wouldn’t I be? You’re smart, you’re funny, you don’t make fun, you take what I say seriously, and – not to sound shallow but – I think you’re the most stunning looking person I’ve ever met.” At last a faint dusting of pink appeared on Bokuto’s face.  
  
It would be so easy to say that Akaashi liked him back. His body – warm, tingling, fluttering – was consenting, 99 percent of his mind was consenting; however, that one percent restrained him, a hesitation that held the same weight as everything within him that cried at him to say yes.  
  
“Would you mind if I thought it through?”  
  
Bokuto’s smile faltered a fraction, which he tried to cover up with large waves of his arms. “No, no, no, take all the time you need! Well, maybe not too – cause I felt like maybe you – no, it’s a big decision, you shouldn’t rush.”  
  
Bokuto’s laugh was a little too loud and a little too wooden, and then he began rambling about marking, reaching into his bag and pulling out a stack of papers and a red pencil crayon. Akaashi excused himself and stood to begin clearing his cup.  
  
“Hey, Akaashi. Is it… okay if I still come here?”  
  
Akaashi paused, imagining more nights without Bokuto's presence. “You're always welcome, Bokuto-san.”  
  
Bokuto brightened at the answer, then his head was down.  
  
Akaashi picked up a stray conversation.  
  
“Unexpected, and slightly discouraging.”  
  
“We’re gonna need reinforcement.”  
  
But the room was loud and bustling and maybe that wasn’t Shirofuku and Konoha, and maybe he heard wrong.

 

*

  
  
A ping from his phone rang out in Akaashi's silent home on Tuesday night, and with a quick check, he straightened up in his chair. A message asking if he wanted to ‘grab a bite’. He had already eaten. He was comfortably warm inside on an evening when forecasters were predicting rain.  
  
He grabbed his coat and left his tea steaming on the table.  
  
Twenty minutes later, Akaashi sat with his hands in his coat pockets, debating whether he wanted to lose what little warmth he had by reaching out at the plateful of yakitori the waitress just set down. Iwaizumi sat opposite, already grabbing the skewer with chicken and leek, unfazed by the cold. They found this place while they were students, prices easy on their wallets without losing out on taste. They had the choice of proper seating between sweaty, smoky, boozy bodies inside or wobbly benches and barrels with the biting air outside, the stove’s cable too short to reach their seats, the parasol too small to keep them completely dry. They always chose to sit outside.  
  
“Haven’t been here in a while.” Iwaizumi stripped off the meat with his teeth and with his mouth full continued. “This place never changes.”  
  
Akaashi felt a pang of guilt for having Iwaizumi work six days a week and not have matching schedules so they could meet outside the workplace.  
  
Akaashi finally braved the cold and reached for the food.  
  
“Something you wanna tell me?”  
  
Iwaizumi threw it out there, an answer to his question the price of being allowed to eat.  
  
Akaashi hadn’t mentioned Bokuto, but he wasn’t naive to think others hadn’t.  
  
“There’s nothing to tell if you already know,” he said, deciding on taking the chicken breast.  
  
Iwaizumi snorted. “I’d rather hear it without the filters. I’ll even start it off for you. ‘So there’s this guy…’”  
  
It was one thing to let the idea float around in his head as a vague obscurity that could fade away and be forgotten, and another committing to his feelings by voicing it out loud. And how to find the right word was another question. Attraction? Chemistry? They seemed too weak and constricting to describe the deafening rhythm reverberating throughout his body every time Bokuto walked through the door warming his face enough to soften his default neutral expression into a smile.  
  
“You know what, never mind. If you can’t answer in the split second it used to take for you to decide where to set the ball, you’ve fallen deeper than I thought.”  
  
“That’s not—”  
  
“Not true? Three seconds for you is like an eternity for us common people.”  
  
“That’s a slight overstatement.”  
  
“You’re right, it should’ve been ‘even for an ace like me.’” Iwaizumi said flatly then reached for the stick of liver. His eyes were on Akaashi when he spoke. “Remind me again how long it’s been since your last relationship?”  
  
Iwaizumi was not the master of lexicon, but with his (animal) instinct and persistence he didn’t need a wide repertoire to strike home.  
  
Akaashi chewed slowly. It wouldn’t be surprising to find Iwaizumi making a decent guess as to what had happened five years ago, even though Akaashi had never told him. Anyone with the skills to piece information together could get the general gist – he was in a relationship one day, and the next he was failing units, retaking his final year and working at his aunt’s shop with no other alternatives. Iwaizumi had already graduated by then, working full time at a new bakery outside of Tokyo with no time to spare except a message every month or two. When they did meet a year after his break-up, his ex’s name remained unmentioned.  
  
“What’re you gonna do about it?” Iwaizumi pushed through the silence.  
  
“I’m not sure I should do anything,” Akaashi said quietly.  
  
Maybe if Bokuto had told him the day after the ‘spark’ Akaashi would have been quick to reciprocate. Time, however, was not a friend of Akaashi’s, because it cooled his head and presented him with options that convinced him out of taking action.  
  
Bokuto was blinding. He radiated pure energy that was invigorating – at least for those who could tolerate his power. For Akaashi it was more than toleration, he completely thrived on it, but prolonged exposure increased his thirst leaving him dependent and vulnerable. More often than not during his evenings with Bokuto he felt like he was the one receiving a service rather than providing it, and that he should be repaying Bokuto somehow.  
  
(This was why Bokuto and Akaashi had a lengthy debate on whether the tab should be paid or discarded, and Konoha - working until midnight along with everyone else because he was a dutiful employee who wouldn’t listen to his employer ordering him home regardless of how much he insisted he could handle the busyness – took the money with the (not illogical) reasoning of, “Think of it as giving us a bonus for working overtime, or are we also going to have to work past midnight because you two couldn’t decide.” Bokuto was satisfied with this outcome, Akaashi was not.)  
  
The more he got to know Bokuto, the more he became aware of their contrasting personalities. Someone like Bokuto needed a partner who was as brilliant to reflect the power back at him so he could be recharged instead of drained. Akaashi was frigid and flat. He could not be that person.  
  
Heavy drops bounced off the parasol, their beat like the ellipses of Iwaizumi’s silence and Akaashi looked up to find a black cloud settled across his face. Unlike the tears of clouds above them, Iwaizumi’s threatened thunder.  
  
“ _Are you fucking serious?!_ ” he roared, half in frustration, half to make himself heard. “You like him. He likes you. What’s the problem?!”  
  
Akaashi also raised his voice half a notch. “It’s not that simple.”  
  
Iwaizumi pointed his skewer accusingly. “You’re making it not simple. He grovelled for you, I’d go out with him at least once just for that.”  
  
“Did Konoha-san tell you—?”  
  
“Konoha did, Shirofuku did – she even sent photos. We’ve got a group chat going. It’s called ‘Project Bokkun and Akaashi-chan forever, heart, heart, heart.’”  
  
Iwaizumi’s poker-face rivalled Akaashi’s unreadable expression. Past mistakes taught Akaashi not to automatically assume sincerity or humour; accuse Iwaizumi of joking and he would get angry that he wasn’t being taken seriously, ask Iwaizumi of being serious and he would get angry that Akaashi couldn’t take a joke.  
  
It was safe to presume that the answer was the opposite of what Akaashi hoped – in this case, Iwaizumi was being serious. Akaashi had mixed feelings about all his employees sharing information about him and Bokuto behind his back (and the title of their group chat.)  
  
“So that’s it, you’re giving up before you’ve started.” Iwaizumi threw the empty skewer into the pot and angrily reached for the next one.  
  
Akaashi sighed. “I’m thinking about it.”  
  
“You wouldn’t have thought twice about dating this guy if you were at university. I’ve said it before – if I see your ex on the street I’m gonna knock him out. ”  
  
“I’m not sure the Japanese population would approve.”  
  
“That includes you?”  
  
“I would need a new baker if my old one is behind bars.”  
  
“Oh, I see how it is.”  
  
To Akaashi’s relief, the conversation for the rest of the meal turned light, even if a weight had settled in the pit of his stomach.

 

*

  
  
Akaashi’s request for time didn’t deter Bokuto from coming, and he was grateful their conversations carried on as before without one mention of whether a decision had been reached. He would have to give an answer, if not for his sake then for Bokuto’s, it wouldn’t be fair to drag it out Akaashi rejected him.  
  
“By Monday,” he uttered to himself on his way to invite the next group inside.  
  
“Please come—” Akaashi looked up and blinked. “Bokuto-san.”  
  
The lurch in his stomach immediately dropped at the sight of Oikawa and Kuroo.  
  
“We’re here for the afternoon tea!” Bokuto announced.  
  
“I thought you had practice on Saturday afternoons?” Akaashi asked.  
  
“Exam season so clubs are on hold. It’s disappointing… but I get to see you!”  
  
The smile came all too easily on Akaashi’s face.  
  
Kuroo nudged Bokuto with his shoulder. “Can we keep the saccharides to the food, Bokuto, please.”  
  
Bokuto turned. “The what?”  
  
Oikawa rolled his eyes. “Akaashi-chan, lead us inside before Kuro-chan begins one of his lectures.”  
  
He complied, leading them to a table in the corner.  
  
“If there are no objections, I’ll prepare the teas as before.”  
  
It was funny to think that weeks from their first visit he would be serving them again, even looking forward to one of their company.  
  
After that it was Matsukawa who served them, Akaashi too busy flitting between the counter and kitchen to attend to them personally, and he heard an overly loud ‘Mattsun!’ coming from Oikawa as he re-entered the kitchen, recalling the conversation with Hanamaki and Konoha.  
  
Matsukawa entered and announced, “Iwaizumi-san, one of the customers is asking to speak with you.”  
  
The formal suffix was not a good sign, and neither was Akaashi’s suspicion on who was asking.  
  
“The complainer?”  
  
Iwaizumi was already by the sink washing his hands, and Akaashi was sure he should be concerned that there was a mad grin on his face.  
  
“You are aware the tea room is full,” Akaashi reminded.  
  
“Yeah, don’t make a scene,” Iwaizumi waved away the caution and turned to Matsukawa. “Who am I looking for?”  
  
“Table one with the three men – he’s the only one wearing glasses.”  
  
Akaashi followed Iwaizumi, who made a quick stop at the counter to check he had the correct table, receiving several glances from many of the customers – including Oikawa. Thankfully they were sitting by the wall rather than the centre, so at least the damage could be contained somewhat. Iwaizumi strode up to the table in question, (Akaashi close behind), and dropped to crouch in the space between Oikawa and Kuroo.  
  
He cleared his throat – not that he didn’t have their attention already.  
  
“I take it you’re the moron with the problem.”  
  
His voice was low enough not to be overheard by other tables and have Akaashi drag him back into the kitchen to have a strong word on the dos and don’ts of customer service.  
  
Besides, as the first and only man to complain about his skills, he had to agree with Iwaizumi’s judgement.  
  
“Akaashi tells me you don’t like the taste. Want to elaborate?”  
  
Silence. Even Oikawa who was confident in his smooth talk was rendered speechless, at least for a short time. Then something clicked behind his stare and he flashed one of his trademark smiles.  
  
“I was saying your desserts could use a little more sugar, but now I see who’s behind the creations I have to say I’m not surprised by their lack of sweetness.”  
  
Akaashi found himself inhaling sharply and holding his breath, reminding himself that yes, he did have insurance should Iwaizumi explode, though the damage to his reputation would take more than free offers on afternoon teas to recover.  
  
“Anything else you want to add?”  
  
Iwaizumi betrayed Akaashi’s expectation with an eerie calmness which put him further on edge, like the explosion would be magnified the longer it was suppressed.  
  
“How about letting me sweeten you up, hm? Maybe you’ll see an improvement.”  
  
“Holy shit, Oikawa,” Kuroo snickered, a nervous waver to his laid-back demeanour; even he seemed to sense that Iwaizumi was not the kind of man to be toyed with.  
  
Bokuto might as well have been watching tennis the way his eyes bounced back and forth between the two contenders, mouth hanging wider with each development.  
  
The two were locked in a staring match – Oikawa with a challenging smirk overflowing with confidence, Iwaizumi glaring up, unfazed by the height difference.  
  
Iwaizumi lashed out, grabbing Oikawa by the collar and dragging him to his level until their faces were a few centimeters apart. Akaashi stepped round to conceal them from straying eyes, glancing to check everyone else was busy with their own conversations. He did catch Konoha tilt his head questioningly, which he responded with a small shake of his.  
  
“You’re probably one of those people who drowns their pancakes in syrup and orders the fancy drinks that are more sugar than coffee, right? How many sugars are there in your tea now – two? Three?”  
  
“Five, actually,” Oikawa said through his smile that was all teeth.  
  
“Fi—” Iwaizumi glared up at Akaashi. “And you haven’t kicked him out?”  
  
To be fair, Akaashi wouldn’t throw anyone out solely on their drinking preference (though the thought of that much sugar in one cup did turn his stomach a little), who was he to dictate how people drink their tea.  
  
The problem was he had never spotted Oikawa touch the sugar bowl.  
  
Oikawa had come in a total of three times including today, always ordering earl grey. Kuroo ordered dandelion root, unsweetened and left to brew minutes past the recommended time presumably because he liked the bitter kick. Bokuto drank whatever Akaashi suggested. It would have been disconcerting if he wasn’t paying attention to returning customers’ habits but he remembered everyone else’s, which left one answer: Oikawa was lying. To what end was a mystery.  
  
“Sweeter isn’t better, your taste buds have numbed from sugar overload. You don’t know shit about subtlety in taste or the balance between a decent dessert and a decent cup of tea.  
  
“You’re banned from my food.” Iwaizumi released Oikawa with a shove and threw his glare around the table. “Same goes for you two if you give him a single crumb. Don’t like my food? Don’t fucking eat it.”  
  
The storm upped and swept across the room back into its hole, the only sign of demolition the disturbed look on Oikawa who had a glazed wildness in his eyes – the kind seen on those stepping off a rollercoaster, or after a crash of lips and mess of tongues.  
  
Not that Akaashi had experience of either. He avoided the former because he didn’t equate speed with amusement, and the latter he had only seen in films.  
  
“More food for us,” Kuroo’s voice cut through the silence at the table. “Maybe you should’ve complained after you finished eating.”  
  
“Akaashi-chan.” Oikawa's voice was small. “ _That’s_ your baker?”  
  
“Iwaizumi-san is, yes.”  
  
“ _Iwa-chan_ ,” Oikawa breathed, staring distantly in the direction of the kitchen.  
  
Akaashi refused to be the one to mention that name to Iwaizumi.  
  
  
Outside, the sky was spread with jam and honey, ready to be engulfed by the night. Kuroo and Oikawa were already at a distance when Akaashi accompanied Bokuto after their tea.  
  
“Sorry about Oikawa,” Bokuto said. “He likes to test people.”  
  
“I should apologise for Iwaizumi-san as well. He doesn’t take well to being tested.”  
  
“The afternoon tea was great, by the way! We’ll definitely come for it again.” Bokuto dug his hands into his pockets. “Well… I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
  
He turned his back to Akaashi.  
  
“Bokuto-san—”  
  
Bokuto looked over his shoulder; two drops of gold and streaks of silver.  
  
“—See you tomorrow.”  
  
Bokuto flashed a smile and waved before jogging to catch up with his friends.  
  
_Monday,_ Akaashi promised. _Please wait until Monday._


	3. Blackcurrant

Iwaizumi was having a bad day. That was Akaashi’s deduction as he approached the backdoor to a cacophony of clashes, clatters, thunks, a heavy slam of the oven door and a string of colourful swearing creatively tied together. Iwaizumi was never this rough unless he was working on something important or he was frustrated. More often it was a mixture of both. He rested his hand on the handle, and when there was a rest that lasted longer than three seconds he entered.  
  
“Good morning, Iwaizumi-san.”  
  
Iwaizumi whipped round and rushed to him, grabbing him by the shoulder.  
  
“Open your mouth!”  
  
“Wha _mph_ —”  
  
Iwaizumi stuffed his mouth with a soft, buttery, almost flaky texture that quickly began to crumble to release a rich, honey-hinted cream; bread not too dry, cream not too stodgy – the balance was perfect. Akaashi chewed slowly to savour the taste, letting the cream dissolve, and swallowed.  
  
“It tastes very good.”  
  
“Damn right it does!”

Akaashi blinked at Iwaizumi shouting too loudly in his ear.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
Iwaizumi released him. “ _Payback_.”  
  
Akaashi wasn’t sure if that was the name given to the dessert or an actual form of revenge – both were too aggressive for a dessert this sweet and pleasurable. It could be the latter, though Akaashi had no idea what he had done to deserve this. Akaashi wiped off the cream smudged on the corner of his lips and licked his thumb clean, trying to remember what he could have done to anger Iwaizumi with his frazzled stare, his hair sticking out in all directions and powdered to resemble Bokuto’s streaked hairstyle, the dark rings under his eyes—  
  
Akaashi scanned the kitchen; scattered bowls and spoons and empty packets, a sticky paste of powder and cream splattered and smeared across the tabletops and walls. A small bag of flour was split open and spilling off the counter into a small heap on the floor.  
  
“Iwaizumi-san, did you go home last night?”  
  
Iwaizumi ignored (or didn’t hear) his question, resuming his musical performance.  
  
Akaashi treaded softly into the tea room, quickly typing out a warning to Matsukawa and Hanamaki working the shift.  
  
  
  
Upon opening, Akaashi blinked at the first group of customers waiting by the door.  
  
“Surprise, Akaashi-chan!”  
  
Oikawa's enthusiasm was more prominent next to Kuroo's pained look and Bokuto's smile twisted into an apology.  
  
“We’re here for the afternoon tea again!”  
  
“But you’re banned from the food—”  
  
“Oh, I know that. I’ll have tea. The other two will have the afternoon tea.”  
  
“Apparently we have no choice,” Kuroo added.  
  
Akaashi frowned but nodded; there was a queue and he couldn’t keep them from entering.  
  
“If you would like to follow me,” he said, leading them inside. He caught Matsukawa’s eye, who immediately made his way to the door to usher in the next group.  
  
“Where would you like to—”  
  
Oikawa stopped by the display case, eyes locked onto what was inside. “Akaashi-chan, is that what I think it is?”  
  
Akaashi looked round. The top shelf contained smaller desserts, the bottom three variations of sponge cakes, but as none of these had ever grabbed Oikawa’s attention, he presumed it must be the new addition. He decided that while it wasn’t traditional or savory (though Iwaizumi had cut it to resemble a finger sandwich) it presented the customers with a sweeter alternative.  
  
“That would depend on whether you consider that to be milk bread.”  
  
Oikawa gasped, dashing to the casing and dropping to the floor, hands and nose pressed against the glass.  
  
“Please don’t touch the casing.”  
  
“Do you know how hard it is to find real milk bread in Tokyo? They don’t even sell them online! Akaashi-chan, I need that milk bread. Let me have one. Just one _bite_.”  
  
Akaashi shook his head, though Oikawa wasn’t looking in his direction. “You remember what Iwaizumi-san said yesterday.”  
  
Oikawa whipped his head round. “Kuro-chan, buy that for me!”  
  
Kuroo had a grin on his face – too wide and enjoying his friend’s distress a little too much.  
  
“I still want to eat at this place.”  
  
“Bokkun!”  
  
Bokuto opened his mouth and looked to Akaashi for support. He shook his head; not if Bokuto wanted to continue eating here. Slouching in defeat, Bokuto rubbed the back of his head.  
  
“Sorry, Oikawa.”  
  
“There’s a lot of noise coming from here.”  
  
Iwaizumi appeared from the kitchen, staring down from over the casing, a winning grin on his face as he looked down on Oikawa who stared back up, mouth hanging open and frozen on the spot.  
  
“How did you know?” Oikawa slowly asked.  
  
“Let’s just say you picked the wrong man to fuck with.”  
  
“Iwaizumi-san,” Akaashi warned.  
  
Oikawa shook his head, almost commiserating. “Oh, no, Iwa-chan. I picked _exactly_ the right man.”  
  
Iwaizumi scowled at the pet name as Oikawa stood, dusting himself off and straightening his coat.  
  
“Sorry, I remembered I have somewhere to be. It’s so hard when you’re in demand. Have a nice time you two!”  
  
“It was your idea to come here!” Kuroo called after Oikawa who waved at Matsukawa before he disappeared out of the door.  
  
Akaashi turned to Iwaizumi. “Did you do that on purpose?”  
  
He received a side glance, then Iwaizumi was retreating back to the kitchen.  
  
As with the day before Akaashi didn’t have time to talk, although he made sure to personally see them out. Their goodbyes were lighter with Kuroo’s presence, which was probably for the best because Akaashi couldn’t stop thinking that tomorrow the countdown would be zero.

 

*

 

Akaashi slipped out of the tea room at ten to stare at the five words in the single message he had received.  
  
_Sorry, can’t make it tonight._  
  
“Any problems?” Konoha peered around the door.  
  
Akaashi looked up. “No, Konoha-san.”  
  
Konoha’s stare lingered a second longer before disappearing.  
  
_I understand. Please make sure to get some rest._  
  
Akaashi put his phone away, relief and frustration bound with unease.

 

*

 

 _Is everything all right?_  
  
_If I can do anything to help, please don’t hesitate to message or call._  
  
_I hope to see you tomorrow._

 

*

 

Akaashi couldn’t stop staring at the message. His day off was mostly spent checking and rechecking his phone, thinking it was unlike Bokuto to ignore him. Akaashi tried to remember if he had said or done anything that may be the cause of Bokuto’s disappearance, but all he could see was the image of Bokuto and Kuroo nudging each other as they walked out on Sunday. In which case, something had happened to him on Monday. Akaashi typed out another message as he took a bite of his onigiri, asking if he would also be dropping in today.  
  
“Mind telling me exactly how you rejected Bokuto?”  
  
Akaashi looked up to find Kuroo standing before him, his grin replaced with a hostile sneer.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“He’s not answering me or Oikawa – and believe me it takes a lot of guts to deliberately ignore Oikawa knowing you’ll receive an onslaught of messages and missed calls – so if something happened, you’re the cause and you know why.”  
  
Akaashi lowered the hand holding his meal.  
  
“I last saw him on Sunday with you. He messaged on Monday to tell me he wouldn’t be coming in. I sent several messages since, none with a reply.”  
  
Kuroo stared down at him, judging whether he was telling the truth. He leaned his head back into his hands and sighed into the sky.  
  
“Has something happened?”  
  
Kuroo spoke into the night. “Bokuto’s got this habit of thinking he’s being a pain to everyone and goes into radio silence – I’m guessing he told you what happened with volleyball?”  
  
“He called them his ‘moods’?”  
  
Kuroo dropped his arms and turned his attention to Akaashi.  
  
“He’s just a sensitive soul hard as it may be to believe. If it takes something small to lift him up, it takes something small to drag him down. It wasn’t a problem until university, he got it into his head that his bad moods were annoying other people.”  
  
“How long does it usually last?”  
  
Kuroo shrugged. “Depends on the damage to his ego. A few days maybe. I haven’t seen anything worse than a week.”  
  
It had already been two or three days, which meant he would hopefully be recovering soon.  
  
Akaashi rewrapped the remainder of his food and stood up. Walking to the door he said, “Please tell him I’ll be waiting for him here.”  
  
“Tell him yourself. You need to go and talk to him.”  
  
Akaashi turned round. “What could I do that you can’t? You’re his friend and you know what to do.”  
  
“Yeah, but you’re the one who’s gonna be in a relationship with him, and you need to see what you’re dealing with. Or more accurately, you need to see if you _can_ deal with it.”  
  
Kuroo’s confidence in Akaashi returning Bokuto’s feelings grated him. “You don’t even know if I’ll accept his feelings.”  
  
“So you’re gonna reject him.”  
  
“I’d rather speak about this to Bokuto-san first.” Akaashi ignored the leaden feeling in his chest. “I can’t leave, there aren’t enough people to handle so many customers.”  
  
Kuroo narrowed his eyes. Akaashi could see what was written – that if he couldn’t put Bokuto before the shop, he shouldn’t be with him. Maybe that was for the best.  
  
“Iwaizumi,” Kuroo suddenly said, looking over Akaashi’s head. “Spoke to Oikawa recently?”  
  
“Don’t mention his name.” Akaashi turned to find Iwaizumi leaning against the doorway. “Akaashi, a word.”  
  
Akaashi didn’t know how much of the conversation was overheard, but likely he was going to receive one of his lectures. Akaashi followed him inside, noting that Matsukawa and Shirofuku were also waiting. He was about to say something about leaving the shop unattended, but Iwaizumi was faster.  
  
“When are you going to stop hiding behind your work?” Iwaizumi crossed his arms and leaned against the table.  
  
“I’m not hiding, I’m just working.” Akaashi sharpened his tone to counter the verbal attack.  
  
“Your life is consumed with this place and it has been for years.”  
  
“I’m running a business, you can see for yourself how much effort is involved.”  
  
“You’re burying yourself deeper and deeper like you can make everything disappear, but all it’s doing is making you rot from the core.”  
  
“There's no need to exaggerate, Iwaizumi-san, I'm not dying.”  
  
Iwaizumi pushed himself off the counter and grabbed Akaashi by the collar. “No, it’s worse – you’re killing yourself!”  
  
“Let’s all take a deep breath,” Matsukawa’s smooth voice intervened. He stepped in as a physical barrier, facing Iwaizumi.  
  
Iwaizumi shoved Akaashi free.  
  
Matsukawa turned to Akaashi. “Iwaizumi has a point. I’ve only been working a year but I can see you spend more time here than you do at home.”  
  
“Your life literally revolves around it,” Iwaizumi spat.  
  
“What Iwaizumi-kun wants to say,” Shirofuku started, sending a look to Iwaizumi, “is that some people love their work enough to let it be central to their lives, and that’s fine, but when we see you it’s like a forced obligation – it’s painful watching you suffocate yourself.”  
  
“Don’t sugarcoat it for him. I’ll say it like it is – you can’t move on.”  
  
Iwaizumi was wrong. Can’t implied an inability to escape, that Akaashi was wandering lost, helpless, waiting on the aid of another. This may have been true in the beginning; everyone knew immersing oneself in work was a coping method for a breakup. Akaashi was no different, but he had long since moved on. It wasn’t a question of ‘can’t’ but ‘won’t’, as in he refused, as in there was a deliberate reasoning behind his decision.  
  
“How do you know.” Akaashi’s voice was low and shaking. “How could you possibly know—”  
  
“I don’t, because you say nothing! You know how long I’ve waited for you to open up? Four years, Akaashi. And that’s not counting the year you think I don’t know about.”  
  
Matsukawa raised his hands.  
  
“Not that I want to interfere, but we’re derailing into a territory that’s probably too personal for me or Shirofuku to hear so let’s backtrack,” Matsukawa said. “Akaashi, it takes a lot for someone to entrust their friend to a stranger. That man out there, he wouldn’t ask if he didn’t think it was in his friend’s best interest.”  
  
“We’re all here to help. You don’t have to shoulder everything yourself,” Shirofuku said softly.  
  
A small buzz filled the room and Matsukawa pulled out his phone. He snorted as he read what was on his screen. “Hanamaki’s on his way. He says to tell you that for every minute you remain here you owe him a bag of profiteroles—” Another buzz. “Correction – a king size bag of profiteroles.”  
  
“Oooh, I’d like in on that,” Shirofuku perked up. “You don’t mind, do you Iwaizumi-kun?”  
  
“I’ll make it for everyone and you’ll be footing the bill,” Iwaizumi said, his eyes not leaving Akaashi’s.  
  
Akaashi couldn’t bring himself to express thanks or apologise, still seething from Iwaizumi’s accusations.  
  
“Here, take this,” Shirofuku pushed something into his hand. “He’ll want something warm if he’s feeling upset.”  
  
Akaashi looked down at the weighted brown paper bag. “What—”  
  
“One second too long!” Iwaizumi yelled, pushing him backwards outside and slamming the door in his face. Cold air hit his anger like an ice pack, shocking him out of his temper leaving him numb.  
  
“Nice talk?” he heard Kuroo say from behind. “I’m not gonna lie, I heard everything.”  
  
Akaashi sighed, defeated. “Kuroo-san, please tell me Bokuto-san’s address.”  
  
  
Akaashi managed to squeeze into an empty seat on the train as people continued to pour into the carriage, casting a shadow over him as they towered over. With his home and workplace within walking distance, he couldn’t remember the last time he used trains, let alone trains during rush hour. He did remember why he disliked it, the loneliness all the more magnified in the inhospitable crowd.  
  
Iwaizumi – he had every right to be angry. Akaashi didn’t trust Iwaizumi enough to reveal what had happened in the past, or what was happening now. In some ways Akaashi was afraid Iwaizumi would reject his decision or forcibly steer him down a route he didn’t want to go, or worse – abandoning him all together, which just showed how little he thought of Iwaizumi in the first place.  
  
He looked down at the brown paper bag in his lap, reminding himself that now was not the time to fix his and Iwaizumi’s relationship; the first step to trusting him was to trust that things would work out. Inside the bag he found a small glass jar of Bokuto’s tea, a tea strainer, and a good luck note. Thinking about it now, in all the time he worked at Aobazuku he hadn’t ever given tea as a gift. He remembered a story once told to him by his aunt of creating a special blend for a special someone. She had never married so he automatically presumed she was talking about a family member or close friend and asked if she would make a blend that would suit him. She just laughed, leaving that honour for the special someone Akaashi would meet one day.  
  
When he became owner of the tea room, he vowed never to ask because he didn’t think anyone would ever know him well enough to provide an adequate answer.  
  
Bokuto liked this tea. But this tea wasn’t Bokuto.  
  
What if he were to make a blend for him? How would he taste?  
  
Akaashi clenched the bag closed, trying not to think about Bokuto’s lips.  
  
  
He followed the directions sent from Kuroo, zigzagging his way down the dim narrow streets until he stood in front of a newish-looking ten storey apartment where Bokuto supposedly resided. Taking time to inhale and exhale to settle his nerves, he made his way upstairs.  
  
He rang the doorbell. Silence was his welcome.  
  
Counting to ten he tried again, this time adding, “Bokuto-san, it’s Akaashi. Please open the door.”  
  
Perhaps Bokuto couldn’t hear him. He pulled out his phone to send a message when he heard scrapes and a click.  
  
Bokuto was draped in a blanket and Akaashi had never seen the light extinguished out of a person so drastically, sunken eyes and drooping mouth and a shadow hanging over him that turned the gold in his eyes muddy.  
  
Akaashi composed himself; one of them had to be. “Kuroo-san told me where you live. Do you mind if I come in?”  
  
“Go ahead.” His voice was almost inaudible.  
  
Akaashi closed the door behind him and followed Bokuto through into the living room. Apart from clothes sprawled on the floor which Akaashi guessed to be a temporary side effect to Bokuto’s ailment, his apartment was relatively tidy. He had it in his head that it would stagnate at high school level, stacks of manga threatening to topple just by walking past, game cases lying open containing mismatching discs, volleyball posters stuck askew.  
  
He silently apologised for his low expectations.  
  
“Bokuto-san, have you slept at all?”  
  
“I’ve been going to bed if that’s what you mean.”  
  
That wasn’t what he meant. Avoiding the answer was a clear no.  
  
Bokuto dropped onto the couch, a moon-and-owl-patterned ghost.  
  
“May I borrow your kitchen?”  
  
The blanket nodded and not receiving any other response, Akaashi took it upon himself to find the kitchen (the first door on the left) and saw the kettle already on the stovetop (half-filled, which he emptied and refilled with fresh water) and turned on the heat, opening the cupboards above to find a mug (with some strange-looking mascots.) While waiting for the water to boil, he glimpsed into more of Bokuto’s lifestyle – a bowl filled with fruit, a net of avocados, several jars of different nuts and grains. He didn’t know why he assumed Bokuto couldn’t look after himself – as a former player and current instructor, it was natural he would take any aspect of fitness seriously. Bokuto’s eating habits far surpassed his quick meals and disregard for a healthy diet; Akaashi considered rotating the filling inside his onigiri to be sufficiently varied.  
  
The kettle began to whistle and Akaashi prepared the teas as he would in the tea room. At that thought worst case scenarios started popping into his head; a party of twenty coming across his tea room, Hanamaki knocking over the shelf sending all the tea smashing, Oikawa visiting.  
  
Shaking his thoughts aside, he returned to the living room.  
  
“I made you some tea.”  
  
A hand appeared from beneath the blanket. Akaashi stared at it, then wrapped his free hand around Bokuto’s (larger than his and firm, muscles tensing under his fingertips) and guided it to the handle.  
  
“What happened?” Akaashi murmured gently.  
  
He watched the creases shift as Bokuto raised the cup to his lips.  
  
“I lost my planner,” Bokuto muttered.  
  
He reminded himself of Kuroo’s words, and also the detailed notes he had seen of Bokuto’s life and the lives of his students written in soft pencil. Akaashi put a question mark beside whether this was the sole reason or other contributing factors were involved, but it was something Akaashi could work with.  
  
How to raise Bokuto’s spirits was the real question.  
  
A: Take him out to yakiniku. He noticed a chain store outside the station. The outcome could go two ways: 1) Akaashi would find himself with an empty wallet and a satiated Bokuto, or 2) even the thought of free yakiniku wasn’t enough to rouse his appetite, he would nibble a few strips of meat and call it a day. In this case, the latter was the more plausible outcome.  
  
B: Stay here and keep Bokuto company, waiting for him to open up. There was a high chance their conversation would steer towards The Question left hanging and with Bokuto’s current temperament, Akaashi wouldn’t be able to speak the truth. This situation needed to be avoided at all costs.  
  
C: Find his planner. Even if losing his planner wasn’t the only reason, finding it again may temporarily lift him to open up about any other issues he was facing. It should interest him enough to get him out of the apartment, and the winter air would help clear his head. Option C it was.  
  
“Where did you have it last?”  
  
“At school.”  
  
“Is the school still open?”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
Akaashi searched the room and found Bokuto’s coat near the television, grabbed it, whipped the blanket off his head (he looked even more distressed with his hair flattened) and pushed the coat into his hands. Before Bokuto could say anything, Akaashi strode to the front door.  
  
“It’s getting late and the school will close soon. If you’re planning on staying here then I’ll need the name of your school, otherwise please lead the way.”  
  
He didn’t look back to check if Bokuto was following until he was at the elevator and he heard footsteps hurrying to catch up. So far, so good.  
  
Once outside, Akaashi asked, “Where did you have it last?”  
  
“I guess... practice Monday.” Bokuto’s voice had added strength.  
  
“Then we’ll check the gym.”  
  
It didn’t even take five minutes to the school, and once inside the gates Bokuto took the lead, his strides wider and determined. Akaashi gave a nod to reassure himself that his plan was working.  
  
At the school building, Bokuto stopped, Akaashi nearly running into him.  
  
“I still had it after practice. I said I needed to go back to the classroom… Akaashi, wait here!”  
  
Bokuto broke out into a run, shouting that he’d be right back.  
  
Akaashi’s original judgement on Bokuto was correct – he had more energy than the average person. Helping Bokuto up was also not as challenging as he perceived so long as he considered outcomes that were several steps ahead.  
  
A man in a lab coat peered round from behind the front door of the school.  
  
His smile was cautious. “Are you a visitor?”  
  
“I’m with Bokuto-san,” Akaashi replied. “He forgot something but should be returning soon.”  
  
The man nodded. “I thought I heard his voice. Is it his planner? I have it in the staffroom – if you’d like to follow me I can pass it onto you to give to him.”  
  
Akaashi debated waiting for Bokuto, then decided to follow the man thinking it wouldn’t take long. The walk down the corridor was eerily quiet without the daytime bustle of students.  
  
“I’m sorry if I’m wrong, but did I hear him call you Akaashi-san?”  
  
Akaashi turned in surprise. “That’s right.”  
  
The man’s smile relaxed. “Bokuto talks a lot about you.” As they turned the corner, the man pulled out his keys and unlocked the staffroom door. Akaashi hoped the man would elaborate further on exactly what Bokuto had been saying about him.  
  
“I’m Sarukui, I teach physics,” Sarukui continued, unfortunately not granting Akaashi’s wish. “We actually started working here at the same time, so we talk a lot. You can come inside by the way.”  
  
Akaashi followed him to one of the cleaner tables along the row, wondering if Sarukui would be able to shed some light on what was wrong with Bokuto.  
  
“Bokuto-san seemed down earlier.”  
  
“Ah, he had a rough start to the week involving one of the students from his class,” Sarukui said, opening the top drawer of his table. “He wouldn’t say what happened, though I overheard other students talking about whether or not Bokuto was really to blame.”  
  
“ _Akaashi!_ ”  
  
The both turned their heads to the cry, heavy footsteps hurtling in their direction until the figure appeared from around the corner, screeching to a stop at the sight of the open door.  
  
“Akaashi – Saru! I didn’t know you were still here.”  
  
“I was about to give your planner to Akaashi-san. It was found by the big tree,” Sarukui sighed, his smile now exasperated as he handed the planner over. “You know we’re not actually allowed to climb that tree? And you’re supposed to be setting an example?”  
  
Bokuto waved his arms in protest. “The kids dared me to do it, Saru, how could I back down?!”  
  
Akaashi was a hundred percent sure Bokuto had returned to his normal self.  
  
“You could be the teacher and say ‘we’re not allowed to climb the big tree.’” Sarukui paused. “Though I can understand the feeling of not wanting to turn down a dare, especially from a student.”  
  
“Saru pretends to be responsible, but he’s really a dark horse,” Bokuto muttered to Akaashi.  
  
“And on that note I’m going to ask you to leave – I was about to lock up before you arrived.”  
  
Akaashi listened to Bokuto and Sarukui’s chatter on the week’s schedule until parting ways at the gate, leaving Akaashi and Bokuto to walk the street in silence.  
  
“Sorry for making you miss your work to come down here, I know you’re busy,” Bokuto began as they wandered. “Kuroo messaged to say you were rushing over.”  
  
Akaashi felt a pang of guilt for the favourable lie. “It’s all right. Hanamaki-san was available.”  
  
“To tell you the truth, I was feeling down cause one of my students yelled at me. It’s pathetic really but it hit me hard – I’ve never had any of the kids yell at me before.”  
  
“It’s not pathetic at all.”  
  
“I was trying to give her encouragement – she was panicking about the exams coming up – but she said I was being too pushy and putting extra pressure on her. She made me think, you know. That maybe I’d been pushing myself onto you when you didn’t actually want me there. That’s why I didn’t come in on Monday. I thought you might want some space.”  
  
Akaashi slowed his steps, watching Bokuto’s back as he began to walk across the bridge and the distance grew between them.  
  
“I didn’t mean to worry you—” Bokuto noticed he was walking alone and turned round. “Akaashi?”  
  
Monday – the day he was supposed to speak to Bokuto.  
  
“I’m sorry if I made you feel that way, Bokuto-san.” He couldn’t prolong it any longer. “I’m grateful you gave me time to consider my feelings, and in the same way you were honest with me, I’m going to be honest with you.”  
  
Akaashi gave Bokuto a chance to say respond, but all he did was keep his steady gaze. When silence was his reply, he knew it was up to him to press on.  
  
“I like you, Bokuto-san.”  
  
He expected his voice to quiver at the bold statement, but it rang surprisingly clear. Still Bokuto watched, his expression unchanging – again, not the response he was expecting. Truthfully speaking, he thought Bokuto would be bounding onto him with joy or excitement.  
  
“You mean ‘like’ as in – what did you say it was – ‘romantically interested’ and not the friendship type, right?” Bokuto asked cautiously.  
  
“Yes, I’m attracted to you,” Akaashi confirmed.  
  
“Akaashi, that’s—”  
  
Bokuto stopped himself, watching Akaashi in a way that was almost assessing.  
  
“But?”  
  
Akaashi didn’t feel his face twitch, his expression shift, his body move, so he wondered how Bokuto could possibly know there was more.  
  
He inhaled deeply.  
  
“But I’m not as interesting as you seem to think I am.”  
  
It was cruel, raising Bokuto’s hopes and then letting him fall; it was crueller to lead him on under false pretenses that their relationship would amount to anything if they took it further.  
  
“I’m also very detached regardless of how close I am to people.”  
  
Akaashi looked down at his hands, wrapping his right hand over his left and massaging his fingers too painfully, unable to control his strength.  
  
“I think you’ll eventually find me to be a disappointment and – I don’t want you to waste your time.”  
  
The _with me_ hung in the air.  
  
If he had to be talked into coming here while knowing Bokuto was upset, if he wasn’t willing to throw everything aside and run to him, then he had no right to stand next to him. His mind had already been made up on Monday, but the day’s events just confirmed his incompatibility.  
  
“You said you were going to be honest, but most of what you just said was a lie.”  
  
Something inside of Akaashi snapped and words spilled out of him like acid. “I think I know myself better than you. You barely even know me.”  
  
“I know enough, Akaashi.”  
  
Bokuto wasn’t shouting – he hadn’t even raised his voice – but the gold erupted into a blaze, the air between them thick with the fuming aura emitted from the figure burning before him.  
  
“I’m sorry. I know you must be upset—”  
  
“I’m not upset, I’m angry. I’m angry someone made you say those things.”  
  
Why was he this transparent to Bokuto? How was it that Bokuto kept overcoming every single barrier that had been carefully put up?  
  
“There’s a place I want to take you to this weekend,” Bokuto said, abruptly changing the topic. As quickly as it flared up, his anger dissipated, leaving Bokuto’s expression unreadable.  
  
Akaashi shook his head. “You know weekends are the busiest.”  
  
“It has to be the weekend. It has to be this weekend. Otherwise, you’ll be ‘wasting’ more of my time. Isn’t that what you just said?”  
  
Akaashi grimaced; each of those last words repeated in Bokuto’s voice pierced his chest.  
  
“It’s short notice so I can’t promise anything.”  
  
“Sure you can.”  
  
Bokuto broke out into a grin, and Akaashi wanted to break out into tears, to scream why and demand Bokuto tell him what made him so worthwhile.  
  
“I really appreciate you coming today. And sharing your feelings. My place is straight ahead. You need to turn left for the station.” Bokuto pointed at him, planner in hand, and Akaashi felt like he was being set as a mark. “Midday Saturday, Akaashi. I’ll wait for you at your station.”  
  



	4. Cinnamon

“I can’t believe it. I’m so proud of you, Akaashi!” Hanamaki called from beyond the door. “You know how you can thank me.”  
  
“You didn’t do anything.” This came from Konoha.  
  
“I covered for him! If it weren’t for me he wouldn’t have been able to go and see ‘Bokkun’, and we wouldn’t be here watching our little owlet preparing to spread his wings.”  
  
“Konoha was also available,” Shirofuku joined in. “You just happened to reply first.”  
  
“C’mon guys, a little recognition would be nice.”  
  
When Akaashi opened the door early in the morning, he was questioning why he found four of his employees standing outside with smiles that were far too bright for a bleak day with expected snowfall, and before he could ask what they were doing they had invited themselves inside, Konoha making tea, Shirofuku preparing breakfasts of various breads, Matsukawa explaining clothing choices and Hanamaki settling down on the couch as gleeful spectator.  
  
“Hanamaki-san, you are aware you’re not working the shift today?” Akaashi called from the bedroom, tugging at his black t-shirt that fitted too snugly against his body. He pulled on the flannel shirt in the hope that it would cover up his discomfort somehow, only to feel even more restricted. Why couldn’t he just wear his work clothes.  
  
“I know that! I just didn’t want to be the only one missing out on the grand flight of Aobazuku. And also I wanted to offer moral support and last-minute advice to any questions you might have.”  
  
“I’d avoid the last one, he’ll demand payment.”  
  
“ _Matsukawa!_ ”  
  
Akaashi checked the mirror and presumed he was presentable enough, unsure as to what the standards were for ‘good looking’ as his outfits consisted of slacks and button-ups for work, and loungewear for home and errands.  
  
Was it too late to lock himself in the room.  
  
“Are you planning on coming out or are we gonna have to kick the door open,” Konoha yelled.  
  
Akaashi sighed and resigned to his fate, opening the door.  
  
All four voices cheered.  
  
“Looking great, Akaashi!”  
  
“I knew you would pull it off.”  
  
“You’ll definitely impress Bokuto-san.”  
  
“We need photographic evidence of this commemorative day!”  
  
Akaashi grew hotter under their stares. “Um. Thank you.”  
  
Hanamaki snapped away on his phone. “I’m sending this to Iwaizumi, he’s so going to—” Hanamaki paused, looking up. “I said nothing. I mentioned no one.”  
  
Akaashi had exchanged the barest of greetings with Iwaizumi since their ‘talk’, not having the time or opening to broach the subject. Iwaizumi even went so far as to coming in earlier to make up for the extended lunch breaks outside, presumably to avoid as much facetime as possible.  
  
“Good job, Mr. ‘No-One-Mention-The-Massive-Elephant-In-The-Room’,” Konoha kicked Hanamaki for good measure, then leaned back onto the sofa. “Well, might as well be frank about it – are you planning on talking to him? Because it’s getting awkward dancing around you two.”  
  
“I have to admit, it is a little intense,” Shirofuku agreed.  
  
“Not an ideal work environment from an employee’s point of view,” Matsukawa added.  
  
Akaashi had been concerned his employees were feeling the side effects of the disagreement, though hearing them voice their thoughts made him feel all the more guilty.  
  
“I’ll talk to Iwaizumi-san tomorrow,” he promised.  
  
“But don’t think about him today! Date first,” Hanamaki said, keeping his voice upbeat and ignoring Konoha’s "you brought him up", dragging Akaashi to the front door. “Let’s go, let’s go!”  
  
They parted outside his apartment, Akaashi half wishing he could join them as they walked in the opposite direction towards the tea house. He sighed, noting the clouds spread dark and dense as he headed to the station, wondering how long they would hold before dollops of snow began to fall.  
  
Entering the station and seeing Bokuto hunched over his phone, already waiting even though there were still ten minutes earlier than their scheduled time. It was refreshing to see him wear something other than his sportswear for school, though Akaashi could see he still displayed his devotion to volleyball through the logo visible under his winter jacket.  
  
Akaashi slowed his steps to a halt. Bokuto hadn’t noticed him yet, he could stop and turn back. It wasn’t too late to return to the tea room, continue as normal, forget the past few weeks. He could let Bokuto fly, while he remained in self-imposed captivity.  
  
Bokuto must have heard his thoughts because he chose to raise his head and spotted Akaashi, giving him an enthusiastic wave.  
  
“Hey, hey, hey! I knew you’d make it!”  
  
Bokuto didn’t waste any time talking through the day’s plans. “I want to make a quick detour before we head to the main event – is that okay? I heard about this new shop from Oikawa, they just opened and have this thing called dessert tea? I thought it might be something you’d like – kinda like checking out the competition.”  
  
Akaashi nodded. “That sounds very interesting. Although I have to say I don’t really ‘compete’ with others in my field.”  
  
“You don’t have to, I already know you’re the best!”  
  
Akaashi would have denied this if he thought Bokuto would listen. Instead, he quietly followed Bokuto and his mutters of whether or not they were heading in the right direction as he tried to make out the route on his phone.  
  
It was easy enough to spot once they turned the corner onto the street – several people were already waiting in line, and as they neared they could see the shop was brimming with customers, barely able to squeeze around each other as they perused the shelves. Bokuto was disappointed with the queue first, then five minutes later he had forgotten they had been waiting, staring at the assortment of teas in pretty little jars and boxes and colourful tins, reeling off question after question before Akaashi could reply to any of them.  
  
“Iwa-chan, put this in the basket too.”  
  
“Why? You’re not gonna be able to drink all this in one go.”  
  
“But they’re letting me have whatever I want so I can write a detailed account, it would be rude to pass up their generosity!”  
  
Akaashi turned his head in the direction of the conversation from the other end of the counter, then the two men were turning round to make their way elsewhere. He could clearly see Oikawa and beside him—  
  
Their eyes met.  
  
Akaashi didn’t need the ability to lip read to know the following words spilling out of Iwaizumi were “oh shit.”  
  
Oikawa followed Iwaizumi’s gaze and pushed his way towards them. “Bokkun! Akaashi-chan! You made it! I was wondering when you would come!”  
  
“What are you doing here?” Bokuto asked, sounding almost offended by his friend’s presence.  
  
“I’m working! I’ve been asked to pick products to blog about – really, I have you to thank, Akaashi-chan, the post I wrote on your tea room expanded my clientele!”  
  
“Post?” Akaashi asked half-distracted, still dumbfounded by the sight of Iwaizumi and Oikawa together.  
  
“I wrote about your tea room! Bokkun, tell me you told him.”  
  
Bokuto shrugged. “I forgot.”  
  
Oikawa shook his head disapprovingly. “I’ll send you the link later. Anyway, Iwa-chan agreed to come and keep me company.”  
  
Iwaizumi shook his head in vehement denial. “I was forced.”  
  
“You agreed to the date!” Oikawa turned to Akaashi, a beaming grin hinted with slyness. “We’re out on a date!”  
  
“ _We are out for lunch_ ,” Iwaizumi growled through gritted teeth.  
   
Oikawa blinked, then beamed even wider. “We’re out on a lunch date!”  
  
Iwaizumi curled his hands into fists.  
  
“Come on, Bokkun, they have free tasters over there, I think you’ll like them!” Oikawa dragged Bokuto away to the woman handing out small cups of samples, and Akaashi was sure he winked at him before leaving Akaashi and Iwaizumi in a silence that stretched out.  
  
Iwaizumi snapped first.  
  
“I can explain.”  
  
“You don’t have to explain.”  
  
He wanted him to explain.  
  
Because last week, Iwaizumi and Oikawa were at it head-to-head and now Iwaizumi was on a date, and Akaashi wanted to know exactly how the transition came about and what it was Oikawa did that—  
  
“Oh.”  
  
It was probably his fault.  
  
A couple of nights ago he had made the mistake of ignoring Oikawa’s first message, which led to a string of messages and emoji and missed calls, and not being able to piece the conversation together he had given a quick reply that may also have provided a hint on how to make Iwaizumi accept a date.  
  
“What?” Iwaizumi watched him, brows furrowed.  
  
Akaashi wasn’t going to ruin this opportunity to make amends by mentioning this fact.  
  
“It’s good to see you taking a break outside,” he steered the conversation away from the ‘not-date’.  
  
Iwaizumi’s reply was defensive. “I’ll be back before we open.”  
  
“I don’t doubt that.”  
  
“They’re predicting heavy snowfall.”  
  
“In that case, please close the shop early.”  
  
Akaashi glanced at the basket Iwaizumi was carrying, filled with five jars and two boxes, wondering if they were all for Oikawa or if some were for him.  
  
“Fuck this – do you know why I was pissed at you?”  
  
Akaashi looked up. Iwaizumi wasn’t angry, at least – maybe mildly irritated, which was practically a default setting.  
  
“I do.”  
  
“I’m still waiting for you to tell me. Not today. Or tomorrow. But at some point. Sooner than later.”  
  
“I will.”  
  
“And don’t think I’d think any less of you for what you tell me. You know me better than that.”  
  
“I know. Iwaizumi-san, I’m sorry.”  
  
Iwaizumi sighed, taking an interest in the products on the shelf. “Yeah, me too. Though I guess if you’re out with him it means you’re actually moving on.”  
  
“I’m not sure if that’s completely true.” Akaashi may have agreed to the date, but he wasn’t exactly sure why he was on it. “But… I would like to try.”  
  
He saw Iwaizumi’s signature glare, staring him down to see if he would crack under the pressure, but Akaashi kept his steady gaze. Seemingly satisfied and judging Akaashi was telling the truth, Iwaizumi gave a nod as a closure to this conversation.  
  
Somewhere inside, he felt lighter.  
  
Iwaizumi picked up a jar, examining the inside, though Akaashi was fairly certain Iwaizumi had no idea of its ingredients. Just because he worked in the tea room didn’t mean he actually knew anything about tea.  
  
“I didn’t know Oikawa-san was your type.”  
  
Iwaizumi scowled. “Don’t even start unless you want another argument. I’m returning a favour. It’s not a date.”  
  
Akaashi refrained from mentioning that he could see the corner of a brown paper bag similar to the one in their own shop sticking out from his bag, or that he could probably guess its contents, or that the tinted colour of Iwaizumi’s cheeks matched the rose petals inside the jar he was holding.  
  
“Iwa-chan! Put this in the basket, too!” Oikawa’s voice cut in as he waved at them from the other side of the room, jar in hand.  
  
“No more tea for you, you’ve got enough already!” Iwaizumi barked back. He turned to Akaashi. “I won’t keep you. Don’t worry about the shop all right? We’ve got it covered.”  
  
Iwaizumi pushed his way back to Oikawa at that point and Akaashi decided to wait outside for Bokuto, who returned a few minutes later with a bag he hadn’t been holding when they met, face too dejected for someone who had been so excited.  
  
“I couldn’t tell them no and then they were putting it into a bag and running the till. I feel like I betrayed your tea room.”  
  
Akaashi couldn’t help but smile. “You’re free to try other teas, Bokuto-san. In fact, it makes me happy that you’re taking an interest my work. Maybe next time we could do a tasting session together.”  
  
Bokuto brightened immediately. “That would be great! We could do an exchange – I’ll invite you to the next match my team is playing in!”  
  
They headed back to the station, Akaashi listening to Bokuto plan out the details of their next event, his stomach flipping at the thought of Bokuto wanting to more spend time with him outside of their regular setting.  
  
Once they caught the train and were heading to their next destination, Akaashi asked, “Did you know Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san would be at the shop?”  
  
Bokuto frowned. “No… but Oikawa did ask a lot of questions about what we were doing and said I should bring you here before going to the s – the place we’re headed to next. I thought he was actually planning to come along, which would have been weird. And awkward.”  
  
It was likely Bokuto was unaware of the frosty exchanges between him and Iwaizumi, which meant that Iwaizumi had told Oikawa, and Oikawa planned for them to talk it out. Akaashi begrudgingly acknowledged Oikawa’s consideration and made a note to thank him later.  
  
“Hey, it’s starting to snow!”  
  
It was still faint, but as the train slowed to a stop and opened its doors, the wind was clearly whisking powdered sugar that had been tipped over from the sky.  
  
Bokuto began talking again, about a school excursion to Hokkaido (he fell waist deep into an unsuspecting patch of snow), about a giant snowball fight last year between Sarukui’s class and his (it didn’t matter Sarukui landed a snowball on his face, his class still won). Bokuto connected and jumped between topics, and Akaashi was content to listen, his heart warming at the animated chatter.  
  
“Tell me one of your stories with snow, Akaashi.”  
  
Akaashi tried to recall a funny incident or anything remotely interesting. All he could think was that he would notice the snow, accept the bad weather, and stay indoors.  
  
“I’m afraid I don’t have anything specific I can remember,” Akaashi admitted. Feeling this was lacking, he added, “But now I’ll be able to associate the snow with today.”  
  
A nervous glance rewarded him with a soft smile on Bokuto’s face.  
  
Bokuto stopped talking after that and they sat in comfortable silence, which continued after they got off at the station. Akaashi had to half power-walk to keep up with Bokuto’s confident strides, making him realise just how out of shape he had become and thinking he should maybe make time to run. He noticed Bokuto’s bare hand deliberately kept at a position that enticed Akaashi to take it. Tentatively he reached out, his fingers brushing against the surprisingly warm skin; Bokuto took the contact as approval to entwine their fingers together. Akaashi couldn’t bring himself to look Bokuto in the face so distracted himself with groups of passers who all seemed to be heading in the same direction. About five minutes later, he found out why.  
  
“We’re here!”  
  
They passed through the gates to a stadium, cheers already leaking out from behind the walls.  
  
“You said you played volleyball so I thought maybe you’d want to see a live match! It’s the next best thing to actually playing.”  
  
Akaashi’s feet began to drag; it had been five years since he last stepped foot inside a volleyball arena. Emotions conflicted within him, two teams serving and spiking as the ball rose and fell inside his stomach. It was true the memories were bitter but he was also excited at the prospect of being near a match.  
  
Bokuto turned at the resistance, checking Akaashi’s reaction.  
  
Akaashi didn’t want to see Bokuto upset, especially when he had put so much thought into their day out. With Bokuto beside him, he told himself that everything would turn out okay.  
  
“I was just admiring the stadium from the outside. It’s been a long time.” Akaashi apologised for the lie, but felt better upon seeing Bokuto pleased.  
  
“Good job it’s an indoor sport otherwise they would’ve had to cancel,” Bokuto said, showing the tickets and leading Akaashi inside. “We’re a little late but we should be able to see the end of the first set.”  
  
His trepidation was pushed aside as they squeezed their way to the seats, his heart beginning to race from the air of excitement, almost tasting the feeling of being on court, nothing mattering except keeping the ball in the air and picking up each point as they came.  
  
His eyes automatically locked onto the setter of the Tokyo team, trying to analyse their form and predicting their calculations. Iwaizumi had been right – his quick-thinking and decision-making skills had dulled. During his matched he could ready at least three selections between choosing the optimal one, and now scarcely able to consider a second alternative before the setter sent the ball away.  
  
A quick glance at Bokuto jumping and cheering whenever the home team scored showed he was just as immersed, although he wondered whether Bokuto regretted not being able to play professionally, or if there was a small part of him somewhere that stopped him from fully enjoying the game.  
  
Akaashi didn’t know how long he watched him after that.  
  
Eventually he returned to the game; Bokuto’s excitement was infectious, and all of Akaashi’s apprehension and doubts had been erased.  
  
Then Akaashi spotted him.  
  
It had to be a mistake, that the man jumping at the net and landing a powerful spike clean past his oppositions was not the same man who had destroyed his confidence and left him broken five years ago, but the crowd was hammering the name ‘Ushijima’ into his head, confirming he was not wrong.  
  
It was his serve. He stared at the ball in his hands to compose himself.  
  
_I have been feeling that our relationship has stagnated as of late. Although our exchanges are enjoyable, it doesn’t provide the stimulation necessary for my discipline – rather, it accentuates my shortcomings and I have yet to find an acceptable means of overcoming them._  
  
He tossed the ball high.  
  
_While it doesn’t impair my lifestyle I also fail to see any improvements, which begs the question – is there any meaning for us to continue as we are?_  
  
He jumped and smashed the ball across the next.  
  
_I foresee you would be more affected by the distance than I, however that in turn would also have an effect on me, and subsequently my performance. How can we exert our fullest capabilities to our respective commitments if we face such distractions?_  
  
A service ace.  
  
Why did it have to be this match.  
  
Why did it have to be this team.  
  
Why did it have to be him.  
  
“Akaashi did you see that?! Incredible!”  
  
Akaashi’s couldn’t tear his eyes away from the player preparing to serve again.  
  
_I believe it’s time for us to go our separate ways._  
  
“I can’t do this,” he whispered.  
  
Another point down. Akaashi looked at Bokuto, desperately concentrating on his radiance, using him as the focal point for the world to right itself again.  
  
Should he have had forewarning… no, even coming mentally prepared wouldn’t have helped.  
  
Bokuto glanced to check on Akaashi and his excitement vanished to be replaced with concern.  
  
“Akaashi? What’s wrong?”  
  
Akaashi shook his head. He wanted to enjoy this. He wanted to be with Bokuto, he wanted to finish watching the match, he wanted to end the date on a positive note, he wanted—  
  
“I’m sorry. I can’t – I just can’t—”  
  
Akaashi was on his feet, muttering apologies as he stumbled between feet and bags trying to keep his balance but his head was dizzy from the chanting and banging and accusations that he wasn’t enough.  
  
He didn’t stop until everything around him was in white static, wind whipping his face, snow burning his skin, cold searing his lungs, and he bent over, counting breaths, willing the heat pooling in his eyes to stop because he didn’t spend five years devoting his life to work to find it had all been for nothing.  
  
“Akaashi!”  
  
He blinked back the tears as Bokuto’s feet came into his line of vision, Bokuto reaching out, and pausing, and abandoning the intention to reassure by touch.  
  
“Tell me what’s wrong – are you ill?”  
  
Akaashi shook his head. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry.”  
  
“What do you need? Tell me what you need, Akaashi.”  
  
His eyes smarted but the tears were under control. He sniffed loudly a few times, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand for good measure, and stood up, doing everything he could to avoid Bokuto’s face.  
  
“I’d like to go home,” Akaashi said quietly, hoping the wind carried it away before it reached his ears because he didn’t want to go home. Whatever he said was too late though – Bokuto had seen him shattered.  
  
“Okay – okay, yeah. Let’s take you home.”  
  
Bokuto insisted on taking Akaashi back, and Akaashi had no energy to refuse. No words passed between them during the train ride. No words passed between them during the walk from the station to his home. Akaashi stared at the blue door of his apartment, deafened by Bokuto’s silence.  
  
They could say their farewells here. Bokuto wouldn’t mind. He would likely do anything Akaashi asked. But Bokuto deserved something, an explanation at the very least.  
  
“Would you like to come in for tea?”  
  
Akaashi unlocked the door, propping it open to allow Bokuto through.  
  
Bokuto didn’t move. “Do you want me to come in or are you asking to be polite? You can tell me to go home—”  
  
“I want you to.”  
  
Bokuto still didn’t move, staring at Akaashi as though he would suddenly change his mind but Akaashi continued to stand, eyes on the floor until Bokuto walked in.  
  
“Please take a seat,” he said, closing the door and straightening their shoes to the sound of the dining chair scraping the floorboards.  
  
Akaashi’s hands shook as he prepared their tea, the gentle clinks normally made by the teapot or cups now tremulous scrape sand clatters; he blamed it on the cold numbing his hands.  
  
He placed a plate of chocolate cake, and when they were ready the cups of tea, pretending to be ignorant of Bokuto’s eyes glued to him as he worked around the kitchen. Finally he seated himself opposite, everything ready except his resolve.  
  
Bokuto wrapped his hands around the cup. “You don’t have to say anything, Akaashi. We can just sit here and drink tea and eat cake.” To make his point, he broke off a large chunk of the cake and shovelled it into his mouth, a silent protest.  
  
The offer was tempting, to sit in Bokuto’s company and pretend everything was fine.  
  
“I ruined our date,” Akaashi began.  
  
Bokuto shook his head.  
  
“Don’t you have anything you want to ask?”  
  
Bokuto shook his head harder.  
  
“Let me ask for you then. ‘Why did you suddenly leave?’ Because Ushijima Wakatoshi was standing on centre court serving the ball and I couldn’t bear the thought of sitting through one more point. ‘What did he do to you?’ Nothing except what he thought was right, which was to end the relationship because he considered it the best option for us both, except it only ever beneficial for one of us and not the other—”  
  
“Akaashi, stop—”  
  
“—‘Why can’t you move on?’ Because I thought I would never need to be in another relationship, because I thought everything was going right when it was going wrong, because his words continue to echo in my mind whenever I even think of the possibility of attempting to find—”  
  
Bokuto reached out and grabbed Akaashi’s wrist.  
  
“Akaashi. Stop.”  
  
Akaashi watched the slow motion of Bokuto’s thumb gently stroking the inside of his wrist.  
  
“I’m a coward, using the tea room as a hideaway because I don’t have anything lasting to offer.”  
  
“We wouldn’t be here right now if that was true. You wouldn’t have left it to come all the way out to see me the other night.”  
  
“I had to be talked into it,” Akaashi confessed.  
  
“Doesn’t matter,” Bokuto softly reassured. “You were there standing outside my door. I don’t know what he or anyone else you might have dated said, but they didn’t know you well enough if they let you go.”  
  
“You think too highly of me and I just can't see why.”  
  
“Then ask me, Akaashi. Anything you want to know. I’ll talk until you’re convinced.”  
  
Why did Bokuto continue to chase after him? What did Bokuto see in him that drew him back day after day? Why wasn’t Bokuto repelled by his fragility?  
  
“Bokuto-san, were you to compare me to a drink, what you would you say I was?”  
  
The words were out before he could stop himself, subconsciously altered to accommodate a broader spectrum knowing Bokuto’s limited knowledge on tea.  
  
Bokuto pulled away to lean back and cross his arms, eyebrows furrowed, repeatedly muttering ‘a drink…’ as he stared down at his tea in search of an answer. Akaashi dropped his hands into his lap, thumbing over the area he had been touched.  
  
Bokuto sat up straight.  
  
“Water.”  
  
His answer rang clear.  
  
Not a tea. Not even a flavoured beverage. Just plain old water.  
  
Memories from past relationships flooded his thoughts.  
  
His first relationship was during the second year of high school. By then he already knew he was interested in the same sex, though he never expected a shy confession from the student next door. It began and ended without fanfare, too short to develop lasting feelings. He didn’t blame his then-boyfriend for breaking up for the reason that Akaashi was ‘no fun’. He had no interest in sports besides volleyball. Being new to same-sex relationships, he wasn’t comfortable jumping straight into anything more physical than kissing. He preferred immersing himself in the written world than the loud noise of variety shows. He prioritised schoolwork and club activities to dates.  
  
They had different interests. He accepted this. He moved on.  
  
His relationship at nineteen saw an improvement from three weeks to eight months, though in hindsight he should have known it was doomed from the start, the jokes on his lack of emotion gradually building up into complaints. “You could look happier that we’re together.” “You don’t seem interested in what I’m saying.” “I can’t tell what you’re thinking.” “You don’t even look upset at the prospect of breaking up.” His lack of expressions was a trait he had since he was a child and he couldn’t forcibly change something that had been ingrained.  
  
They sought different traits in people. He accepted this, too. He moved on.  
  
His last relationship was a record-breaking three years, Ushijima a stoic, serious man whose emotions also didn’t appear on his face and Akaashi could finally relate to his maturity that surpassed his peers. Philosophical debates. Mutual acceptance. Satisfactory intimacy. Neither clung too tight, respecting the other’s need for personal space.  Then one day, when Akaashi was determining how their relationship would change through long distance, the man raised his concerns and ended their relationship.  
  
And all Akaashi could think was that he was the problem. And if he had caused the breakdown of the relationship he believed would last regardless of the hardships they would face, then he must have caused the breakdown of his previous relationships as well.  
  
So he accepted this newfound knowledge.  
  
But he couldn’t move on.  
  
His clenched hands left angry dents in his skin. “Because I’m insipid? Impassive? Uninspiring?”  
  
Bokuto pushed himself up with a loud screak from his chair, panic set in his eyes. “What? No! At least, I don’t think so? I don’t know the exact meaning of two of those words, but I can tell they don’t mean anything good.  
  
“You’re the opposite, Akaashi. You wouldn’t have any other drink without water. No one really thinks about it because it’s just there and it tastes so neutral, but it’s so important! It even tastes different depending on hard water, soft water, spring water, mountain water… and the way it twists around a rocky bend, or crashes into explosions in a waterfall, or stands still as a mirror. I read somewhere once that water holds memories – even emotions!  That’s probably why you have a hard time letting go, because even after you get a fresh cup to start over, it contains what happened in the past. That’s not a bad thing though, it just – it makes you more vulnerable.”  
  
Akaashi’s mind went blank; no options, no thoughts, no analysis.  
  
“And I – I want you like I want water. I drink water all the time, as soon as I wake up, throughout the day, before I go to bed, it’s necessary to my life and I want you to be – no, that’s not—” Bokuto ran a hand down his face, clenched his hair, turned his back against Akaashi. “I’m not making any sense, it’s so difficult to put into words… I wish I could just – if I could just show you—”  
  
Akaashi did things in order. He did so with his tea, he did so with his relationships.  
  
Label. Measure. Layer. Mix. He did, and he had done, and he assumed he always would.  
  
Until Bokuto.  
  
Akaashi left the label blank, scraped out whatever remains of himself he could scavenge and threw it into an obscured container, pouring copious amounts of Bokuto’s vibrant, dynamic essence. It should have frightened him – his strict routine, his meticulous assessments, everything destroyed by the chaos that was Bokuto – yet he was uncharacteristically accepting of this reality.  
  
Not just accepting; he longed to vigorously shake the mysterious concoction and taste its exotic blend.  
  
Akaashi quietly stood, his body trembling. “Then show me.”  
  
Bokuto turned, the half-lidded moons of gold becoming round and full.  
  
“Akaashi, I’m not sure you get what I’m saying—”  
  
“Bokuto-san. Show me.”  
  
He knew Bokuto was debating back and forth. His own mind was surprisingly calm despite his heart, his blood, his skin, every part of his body working at maximum capacity. He had never initiated anything, his desire never enough. But this time, he did want. He hungered for what was being offered and more importantly, for Bokuto.  
  
A whir of movement. A crash of lips, wild and raw and heated and pliant. A mess of tongues, wet and slick and coarse and thirsty. Underneath the tea and cream and chocolate and spice he tasted Bokuto, and no perfect dessert, no perfect cup of tea could compare to his sweet taste.  
  
They tore apart, breaths shallow, ragged. Akaashi opened his eyes, mesmerised by the golden pair that were aroused and flickering haphazardly as they traced his features. In the back of his mind somewhere, he wondered how neutral he looked, and if Bokuto would be turned off by his subdued reaction.  
  
Bokuto swallowed. “Let me – please—”  
  
“Yes.” Akaashi grabbed his shirt and pulled him in. “Bokuto-san – _yes_.”  
  
Bokuto was on him again, and Akaashi guided them towards the direction of the bedroom with moans and grunts, stumbling and knocking into the coffee table, the sofa, the door frame until the back of his legs hit the bed. He half sat, half fell, and then Bokuto was pushing him down the rest of the way with his weight.  
  
Bokuto pulled away first and Akaashi was sure he would combust under the flaming gaze.  
  
“ _Akaashi._ ”  
  
He never thought Bokuto would be capable of speaking with such quiet tenderness and wonder, like his name held the long-sought answer to that all-important question.  
  
“You have it wrong.”  
  
Akaashi was on the edge of asking ‘what’ until Bokuto’s mouth covered his, gently, sweeping the word away with his tongue.  
  
“You’re brilliant, Akaashi.”  
  
Bokuto began to drop trails of kisses up along his jaw. He nipped at Akaashi’s earlobe, licked around the shell of his ear while his hand slipped in under the shirt, firmly tracing the outline of his frame. Akaashi shivered and writhed under the touches, whimpering for more.  
  
“So responsive.”  
  
Bokuto rolled his hips and Akaashi arched back, raising his hips to try and repeat the sensation, to get more of the delicious friction that sent a jolt of pleasure only a fraction of what he would feel if they were grinding skin to skin.  
  
“Breathtaking.”  
  
Akaashi wanted to say Bokuto was the one literally taking away his breath as he drowned (or was it supposed to be the other way round?) but he wasn’t allowed time to think as whispers filled his mind, caresses unfurled his tension, thrusts wrung his nerves, heat poured into his body and his soul cried out, every ounce of Bokuto steeped into his very existence.  
  
  
  
  
Akaashi roused to darkness. Bokuto’s arm was draped over his chest preventing escape while he lightly snored into the pillow. Akaashi squinted at the clock on the bedside table, barely making out the phosphorescent hands to be pointing at eleven.  
  
He carefully maneuvered from under Bokuto’s weight, wincing at unexpected muscle burns, pausing at a snort or a mumble until he was finally in the clear, and he could slip on his shorts and tread softly into the kitchen to put the kettle on. He crossed the room to the window, peeking between the curtains to find the world covered in a thick layer of icing with no sign of the snow letting up. One more hour until the last train – that was supposing the trains were still running.  
  
Returning to the kitchen, he continued preparing the hot drinks. Would they have been stranded at the stadium if they stayed? Would any of this have happened if they stayed?  
  
“What are you making?”  
  
Akaashi turned and froze momentarily at the sight of Bokuto standing by the doorway flaunting his indecency, then turned back to his kitchen counter as though he had seen nothing. Internally, he was forcing himself to stay calm, equal parts aroused and comforted; admiring the sight of Bokuto utterly relaxed in his apartment was something he wouldn’t mind adding to his routine.  
  
The gaze on his back grew heavier, making him shift occasionally to try and shake off the weight to no avail.  
  
Akaashi could no longer tolerate the silent pressure. “What happens now?”  
  
“What do you want?” Bokuto’s response was immediate.  
  
Footsteps approached, stopping a few feet away.  
  
“Your last train will leave in about an hour if you plan on going home.”  
  
They’d crossed over the line into intimacy, even though their status was yet unclear.  
  
“The trains may have been suspended, in which case you may want to check in at one of the hotels by the station.”  
  
But did that really matter? He could just leave it blank. Or leave it for someone else to label, in soft pencil, smudged and illegible.  
  
“Or you could stay for another cup of tea,” he asked. His voice was shaking.  
  
“I won’t stay for tea.”  
  
The answer was a jab injecting cold dread; he had read between the lines wrongly, he was hoping for too much.  
  
“I’ll stay for a glass of water though.”  
  
Akaashi quickly turned, processing the answer and finding it to be ridiculous – finding the sight of Bokuto standing naked in his kitchen with a grin too wide to be ridiculous – and he wanted to make a cutting comeback, something that would equally sting, but instead he began laughing, shaky at first, louder as Bokuto joined in and wrapped him in his arms. Akaashi buried his face into his neck releasing the tears that welled in his eyes – from amusement, or from happiness, or from relief that Bokuto didn’t give up and he was here, providing a warm, protective blanket from the biting cold of the world outside.  



	5. Water

Bokuto loved mornings.  
  
He especially loved running in the mornings, an essential part of his routine which began along with his interest in volleyball. He had to move first thing in the morning; the reason was less to do with fitness and more with needing to physically shake up his body after a night of limited movement. And he had to really savour his run today because if the news finally got it right and the snow that was supposed to fall actually settled, he was going to have to resort to the gym – which was fine, but it couldn’t reproduce the crisp air filling his lungs.  
  
A couple of weeks ago he began running a whole new route. He liked the change in scenery of rivers and parks that stretched wider and further than his old location, but what really made it special was that he could make a pit stop near the end to pick up something freshly baked for breakfast.  
  
Bokuto knocked twice on the glass and without waiting for a reply swung the door wide open.  
  
“Morning, hey, hey!”  
  
Kunimi looked up from his mixing, and with a stiff bow of his head muttered a ‘good morning’. Bokuto liked Kunimi, the bakery intern, because his greetings were generally nice, unlike Iwaizumi who yelled on good days and said nothing on bad.  
  
“You’re too loud,” Iwaizumi growled from the ovens.  
  
“Why are you working?” Bokuto asked, still holding the door open. “Did you forget we booked the court for this morning?”  
  
“I’m helping Kunimi set up.” Iwaizumi walked around the counter, grabbed the bag on the tabletop and shoving it against Bokuto’s chest. “And you’re letting the cold in. Get out. I’ll see you later.”  
  
Iwaizumi pushed the door closed, forcing Bokuto back outside. Bokuto stared at the door for a second then shrugged and resumed his run back to the apartment. Iwaizumi’s rudeness didn’t faze him; he imagined he would be cranky too if he had wake up at the crack of dawn only to spend all day cooped up indoors.  
  
When Bokuto returned to the apartment he started on breakfast, taking it on himself to be in charge of any task involving food because he had discovered within a few days of moving in that Akaashi was a night owl who didn’t wake up until late in the morning and had the worst eating habits. It rested on Bokuto to change these habits for the good of Akaashi’s health, and this began with a nutritionally-balanced breakfast.  
  
(Or as close to one as he could get; so far Akaashi agreed only to warm smoothies and a few bites of bread, insisting he couldn’t stomach much so ‘early’ in the morning. It wasn’t enough in Bokuto’s opinion, but it was better than drinking just tea so he counted it as a win.)  
  
Once he was done, Bokuto returned to the bedroom where he had left Akaashi and began gently nosing at his sleeping face. About a minute in and not a single reaction, Bokuto shook him by the shoulder.  
  
“Morning, Akaashi!”  
  
Akaashi mumbled something incoherent into the pillow.  
  
“You remember what day it is today?” Bokuto leaned in, their faces almost touching.  
  
Akaashi cracked open his eyes a sliver. “Sunday?”  
  
“Volleyball Sunday! We need to eat! Get ready! Go!”  
  
Akaashi buried his head under the duvet.  
  
Bokuto’s last resort was to jump onto the bed and wrap Akaashi up in his arms and legs in a duvet burrito.  
  
“ _Akaaaashiiiii_.”  
  
He considered his wakeup call a success when Akaashi peeked over the edge squinting like he was being blinded by the sun.  
  
“Good morning,” Akaashi greeted, his voice cracked and raspy.  
  
There was something about his sleepy smile and bleary eyes, innocent and exposed, that made Bokuto tone down his volume and energy.  
  
“I made breakfast,” Bokuto murmured.  
  
Akaashi ran a hand through Bokuto’s hair which he took to mean ‘thank you’.  
  
Akaashi closed his eyes. “Five minutes.”  
  
In those five minutes Bokuto thought how lucky he was as he watched Akaashi, tracing every detail of his face even though he had them memorised, and when Akaashi next woke Bokuto forgot to breathe, submerged in the clear blue of his eyes until the sound of his name pulled him out of his trance and he jumped up, caught his leg on Akaashi’s and rolled them both over the edge onto the floor.  
  
  
  
  
Bokuto loved volleyball.  
  
He especially loved playing volleyball – or at least he did in the beginning, though over the years he became just as happy watching or teaching. There were even times when being off court was more rewarding, when he watched the potential hidden within his students coaxed out and unleashed, taking pride in the fact that he had been the one to nurture their interest, to guide them on their forms or power or technique and going so far as to helping them gain entry into a high school where they could continue honing their skills.  
  
But he did miss being back on court with that feeling of invincibility as he flew high to smash the ball down before his opponents could react. And it took a lot of scheduling, rescheduling, reserving and endless messages between everyone but they had finally done it – he was going to play and, even more excitingly, Akaashi would be setting.  
  
“You know I haven’t played since high school,” Sarukui said while stretching his arms at the back of the court. “I’m sorry in advance if our team loses.”  
  
“If our team loses it’ll be because of Bokuto,” Konoha assured next to him.  
  
Bokuto looked at Konoha over his shoulder. “Why me?!”  
  
“You’ll get distracted by Akaashi, Oikawa will serve the ball to your head, and you’ll start sulking because one, you missed the ball, two, you got hurt by Oikawa of all people and three, you looked pathetic in front of your precious boyfriend.”  
  
“That’s worryingly specific,” Sarukui said, amused and slightly relieved.  
  
“Can I just let you all know how isolated I’m feeling right now,” Kuroo cut in, the loser of rock paper scissors sitting cross-legged on the floor by the net with his head in his hand looking bored.  
  
Oikawa threw the ball he was holding at him. “You lost fair and square, Kuro-chan! Besides, we’ll rotate members each match – then we can really show everyone our undefeatable trio!”  
  
Iwaizumi, standing ready in position beside him, scoffed. “Yeah, I’ll take any chance to aim at your face.”  
  
Oikawa gasped. “Iwa-chan, my beautiful face is needed for work tomorrow, you can’t harm it!”  
  
“Then you can move out of the way and give me a clean shot, can’t you.”  
  
Kuroo threw the ball back to Oikawa. “Who’s looking after the tea room anyway?”  
  
Matsukawa, standing closest to Kuroo, answered. “Shirofuku’s in charge with Kindaichi and Washio, and Kunimi’s handling the bakery.”  
  
“Yeah, Akaashi likes them more than us because they call him with a ‘san’ and don’t talk back,” Konoha added.  
  
Akaashi looked up at the mention of his name. “That’s not true.”  
  
Hanamaki pointed and stabbed his finger at Konoha. “Yes! That! The other day after Kindaichi left, Akaashi was all ‘that Kindaichi, he’s _such_ a hard worker, and he does only what I tell him to unlike you ingrates’, like we don’t work our asses off covering for our employer while he runs off after his boyfriend.”  
  
“I have never said that.”  
  
“Ah, but do you deny thinking it?” Matsukawa asked with a small smirk on his face. He turned to Hanamaki. “To be fair on Akaashi, his partner does require a lot of attention. Like a puppy.”  
  
Bokuto nodded several times. “Yeah! Don’t be mean to Akaashi, he’s only looking out for me!”  
  
“I don’t think you’re supposed to agree there, Bokuto,” Sarukui said with a weak smile.  
  
Oikawa waved the ball. “Gentlemen, did we come here to talk or are we going to play some volleyball?”  
  
Everyone settled into their positions, Bokuto watching Oikawa bouncing the ball. He glanced to the side, taking in the sight of Akaashi with an intense focus he had never seen before. Akaashi was good at concentrating, he did it all the time when he was working, or even when trying to read Bokuto’s thoughts, but it was a quiet concentration, absorbed and mellow. Right now Akaashi was simmering, and it wouldn’t be long before he was heated to boiling point.  
  
The ball sliced across his vision and he followed it to see it bounce behind to the back of the court, then he looked to Oikawa who was steadying himself from his jump.  
  
Iwaizumi whistled. “That is one mean serve.”  
  
“It was okay,” Oikawa said with a small frown, rolling his shoulder. He brightened when he turned to Iwaizumi. “Did it make you fall in love with me all over again, Iwa-chan?”  
  
Iwaizumi didn’t look at him. “If it did, the feeling passed when you opened your mouth.”  
  
Sarukui threw the ball overhead back into Oikawa’s hands.  
  
“Bokkun, you’re going to make yourself an easy target if you stare at Akaashi-chan throughout the whole match.”  
  
Konoha kicked Bokuto in the back and sent him stumbling forwards. “I told you, get it together! I’m not gonna owe Hanamaki a month’s worth of profiteroles because of you!”  
  
“I wasn’t staring!” Bokuto insisted as he rubbed his back, feeling his face grow hotter. He looked to Akaashi for support.  
  
Akaashi’s hint of a grin was amused. “It’s only the first point.”  
  
Bokuto locked onto the ball – he wasn’t going to look lame in front of Akaashi. Oikawa bounced the ball once, twice, three times, and then it was in the air, a hard slap sending the ball shooting over the net. Konoha managed to save the ball from the ground, rebounding it off his left arm, the angle too low but at least in Akaashi’s direction, and Akaashi just managed crouch underneath, pushing it up towards Bokuto.  
  
Bokuto swung his arm and the ball hit the side of his palm that sent it over the net but way off course.  
  
“Out!”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Akaashi said, flexing and massaging his fingers. “I miscalculated.”  
  
Bokuto touched him on the arm, flashing him an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry about it.”  
  
Oikawa to serve for the third time, and Bokuto’s smile turned predatory, his heart hammering against his chest barely containing the excitement. Their eyes met as Oikawa made the jump, and he saw it, the hesitation, an instant change of mind to the ball’s course from Bokuto to Sarukui, the speed just slow enough for Sarukui to receive the ball well, bouncing it high in the air.  
  
“ _Akaashi!_ ”  
  
Bokuto reached out; the height, the speed, the angle, it was all perfect as the ball pressed squarely inside his palm for a sharp cut shot that bounced just within the line and nearly hit Kuroo in the face.  
  
“Yes! Did you see that, Akaashi?!”  
  
Bokuto turned, expecting to see a small curl to the lips followed by a quiet ‘very good, Bokuto-san’.  
  
A current jolted through his body and he stopped short, heartbeat erratic, as he saw Akaashi’s mouth hanging open in a wide, disbelieving smile, eyes sparkling like the sunlit sea.  
  
  
  
  
Bokuto loved Aobazuku.  
  
He especially loved it when the room bustled with life, even if it meant he had to give up his table and sit out back in the kitchen. Oikawa’s blog had put the tea room more so on the map, and there was a constant flow of people throughout the day and well into the night, many even staying all the way to closing time.  
  
Today’s quietness was rare. It was nearing eight and the room was empty except for Bokuto and Akaashi. The weather forecasters did get it right with snow starting to fall during lunch, and by the time they made it back to the apartment there was already a thin sheet of white on the roads. Akaashi got ready quickly to return to the tea room, and only two tables were occupied when Bokuto joined him later on with bentos he had made and packed. All the customers left by six, Akaashi sent his employees home early and no one had entered since.  
  
Bokuto felt like they had turned back time to winter last year, where he sat at his usual table with his planner open, catching glimpses of Akaashi between writing. Unlike last year, he didn’t have to sneak glances at Akaashi and he could openly watch him working.  
  
Bokuto leaned over the back of his chair to check on the snow; he could just about make out the white dots reflecting off the light, thick and falling strong. He wanted to go out and feel its soft touches on his face, become so cold he was numb and then return to the warmth of their apartment, curling up next to Akaashi with a hot drink and later falling asleep to Akaashi stroking his hair. But even if Akaashi closed early, he would have to wait another three hours before they were free.  
  
Movement from Akaashi’s reflection caught his eye and he shifted his attention from the pitch black of the outside to Akaashi working away at the counter, measuring some ingredients and pouring it into the jar. It was soothing to watch, his movements steady and rhythmical, a master working on his craft.  
  
Akaashi stopped and looked up in Bokuto’s direction, unaware he was being watched. Seconds stretched to minutes. Bokuto assumed Akaashi was trying to predict his current mood, then his analytical stare softened; Bokuto had never seen anyone look at him with so much tenderness and he was sure his chest was going to burst from this discovery.  
  
He was definitely going to use this secret window to Akaashi more often.  
  
“Bokuto-san, is everything okay?”  
  
Bokuto turned back round to face Akaashi.  
  
“Do you remember the day we first met?”  
  
“Yes. I was on the verge of declining to serve you.”  
  
It wasn’t the first time Bokuto heard the story and he usually pretended to be shocked by the dry answer, insisting he would have returned the next day even if he had been thrown out because one look at Akaashi and he was captivated. Akaashi would hum unconvinced, a playful smile on his face.  
  
Maybe it was the volleyball after years of inactivity, or maybe it was the snow that was making him contemplative – tonight Bokuto wasn’t spurred by the teasing.  
  
“I nearly didn’t come,” he confessed for the first time. Akaashi, having resumed his work, stopped and returned his attention fully back onto Bokuto. “I wasn’t down, not exactly, but I wasn’t sure about coaching the team the following school year. Kuroo and Oikawa, you know what they’re like, they dragged me out of the house and took me out to yakiniku. Then Oikawa said he wanted to have a look at this place.”  
  
Bokuto had doubted his skills as a coach and even teacher after a tough defeat in the championships. When he started out he wanted to continue being involved with the sport in whatever way he could, all the while promoting the game to get the kids interested, and it had been the first time he seriously (re)considered his profession. He confided in Sarukui who advised him to take some time to think about it, and sometime after that to Kuroo and Oikawa who pushed him on to continue, and by the end of the evening he was ready to get back to the school and start coaching again.  
  
“If I hadn’t come I wouldn’t have known about this place. I wouldn’t have met you. We wouldn’t be here now. Don’t you think that’s weird?”  
  
It wasn’t the first time he thought about this, but it was the first time he voiced it out loud. He could see it, Akaashi staring at him without seeing, his consciousness working in the back of his mind.  
  
“But you did,” Akaashi eventually concluded. “That’s all that matters.”  
  
Simple and direct, and it easily made him content. Akaashi was right, there was no point thinking about what ifs when the present was all they had – and he loved what life had given him.  
  
Bokuto looked down at his planner. “Though if you had tried to throw us out, I’d probably have tried to make you let us stay,” Bokuto continued as he checked off some items on the to-do list to the clashing noise of piano and hoots and bells. “Or maybe I’d have come back the next day – what do you think?”  
  
No reply. Bokuto looked up. “Akaashi—”  
  
Akaashi was staring past Bokuto. He followed the line of sight, eyes widening at the professional volleyball player standing inside the door. A year ago and he would be jumping up to shake the man’s hand, bombarding him with questions, asking for an autograph.  
  
Now, he only knew him as the man who hurt Akaashi.  
  
“What are you doing here?”  
  
Bokuto was half out of his seat when Akaashi called to him.  
  
“Bokuto-san, it’s okay.”  
  
Bokuto turned round to Akaashi who looked pained – but not distraught. Not like that day he turned round to glance at Akaashi expecting to see him on a high when only dread swelled inside him as he thought of all the ways he could have done something wrong to hurt Akaashi.  
  
Bokuto hoped Akaashi caught the silent ‘are you sure?’ relayed in his frown.  
  
Akaashi walked over and rested his hand on Bokuto’s arm; Bokuto obeyed his silent request to settle back down.  
  
“Ushijima-san. How can I help you?”  
  
“After you disappeared I attempted to find you. I felt there were matters that needed to be addressed and I regretted not clarifying some of the things I said. However, I saw you at the match last year and after some deliberation I decided to try again, which resulted in discovering this tea room.”  
  
Ushijima only had eyes for Akaashi while talking, completely ignoring Bokuto.  
  
“Could you please take a seat by the window.”  
  
Ushijima made his way to the table and sat down. Bokuto took the opportunity to follow Akaashi to the counter, hovering next to him in a way that prevented a clear view of the window seat.  
  
“Do you need me to do anything?”  
  
“No, Bokuto-san.”  
  
Akaashi worked on making tea but Bokuto could tell he was trying to avoid eye contact.  
  
“I won’t listen in, but promise to let me know if you need me.” When he didn’t receive an answer, Bokuto placed his hand over Akaashi’s that continued to work. “Akaashi?”  
  
Akaashi finally looked up and Bokuto tried to search behind the iced blue walls; they were too high and thick and the unknown sent a chill down his spine.  
  
“I always thought this would happen eventually,” Akaashi said, his thoughts remaining cryptic. “We won’t talk for long.”  
  
Akaashi took hold of the tray and Bokuto removed his hand, letting Akaashi pass. He watched as Akaashi placed the teapots and cups, sat in the chair opposite, held his hands under the table rubbing and twisting his fingers, and Bokuto looked down at the jar that remained open, the jar that contained the very first drink Akaashi served him and he took the abandoned spoon, stabbing feebly at the flowers.  
  
He heard no words, only murmurs. Akaashi knew what he was doing. Bokuto trusted him. Even if Ushijima came intending to ask Akaashi—  
  
Bokuto shook his head. He didn’t need to worry. He had seen the devastation, had slowly pieced Akaashi back together, cementing each shard with a word, a touch, a gesture that increased the length and range and frequency of his smiles, restoring his joy and humour. Akaashi didn’t belong to him because of all he had done, he knew that, but he liked to believe he had shown exactly how much he cared, how much he wanted to be with him.  
  
But Bokuto wondered. Whether Akaashi still had feelings for Ushijima. Because (while he didn’t want to admit it) the aftermath showed exactly how deeply Akaashi had loved the man, otherwise he wouldn’t have stopped himself from falling in love again.  
  
He didn’t want to give Akaashi up. At the same time he wanted Akaashi to be happy.  
  
High-pitched screeches of chairs tore through his muddled thoughts, and it took the whole of his willpower not to look up as footsteps crossed the room and parted with a gentle jingle of the bells.  
  
Bokuto closed the lid on the jar.  
  
“You don’t need to tell me anything,” Bokuto spoke at the jar before Akaashi spoke first. “I only need to know if you’re okay.”  
  
There was a long pause.  
  
“I’m fine. Everything is fine now. Thank you.”  
  
Bokuto might have believed him if there hadn’t been a stretch of silence. But now he was unsure – was Akaashi really fine or was he saying that to make Bokuto feel better?  
  
“Bokuto-san—”  
  
“Do you still want me to stay?”  
  
His question was weighted with a second, more serious question.  
  
“You know I love your company, although if you are feeling tired you can wait at home—”  
   
Bokuto picked up the container and met Akaashi’s eyes that stopped him talking, and he turned his back to him, slotting it back into the empty spot where it lived. He scanned the rows of teas; he had tasted them all now, though he still hadn’t memorised all the flavours or ingredients. He loved this place. He loved the tea. He loved—  
  
“Bokuto-san... what are you really asking?”  
  
A question popped into his head.  
  
Bokuto ran past Akaashi, swinging the door open and stepping outside, the wind and snow biting his skin. He spotted the figure in the distance walking in the direction of the station and Bokuto ran, ignoring the dangers of the slippery road.  
  
“Hey!”  
  
Ushijima didn’t stop for him – or maybe didn’t hear him – and Bokuto reached out grabbing him by the shoulder to force him round. The volleyball player was slightly taller, his look sharp and hard to decipher.  
  
Bokuto wasn’t intimidated.  
  
“What drink is Akaashi most like?”  
  
Ushijima’s face was blank. Bokuto refused to back down, ready to demand an answer or argue his need to know. How would this man who had broken the person he loved most in the world answer?  
  
“Matcha.”  
  
Bokuto was too surprised at the answer offered so freely he didn’t realise he had loosened his grip, and it was only when Ushijima was in the distance again that it registered.  
  
He watched until Ushijima disappeared into the night. Then he trudged back to the tea room, walking through the door Akaashi held open, not acknowledging him, returning to his table and dropping into his chair, the answer still echoing in his head.  
  
“What did you say to him?”  
  
Bokuto could hear the demand in Akaashi’s tone bordering on anger.  
  
“I asked him the same question you asked me.” Bokuto frowned, staring at his planner. “Do you want to know what he said?”  
  
Akaashi audibly sighed, weary and drawn out. “I’m not interested in his answer,” he said, walking back to the counter to resume the rustle of tea leaves and clinking of spoons and jars.  
  
Each tick of the clock pried at Bokuto’s restraint until it finally broke.  
  
“Matcha,” Bokuto blurted out. He peered up to see if Akaashi was annoyed.  
  
Akaashi wore a neutral expression. “It’s very suited to his personality.”  
  
Bokuto slouched further into his chair. “It’s so like you. Why couldn’t I think of an answer like that? Maybe I didn’t know you as well as I thought.” Bokuto paused and added, “As well as I think.”  
  
From the corner of his eye he could make out Akaashi approaching, crouching beside him, reaching for and taking his hand.  
  
“You knew me far better than myself back then. I understand why Ushijima-san gave that answer – I had always been very rigid in my ways, everything having a set place, a tight routine. It must have reminded him of a tea ceremony, disciplined and ordered. Maybe I would have been content if he had been the first to give me an answer. But meeting you made me realise how different I am to the image I had of myself.”  
  
Bokuto glanced at Akaashi, saying nothing.  
  
“If you had said matcha to me last year, I doubt I would have been swayed and there would have been little to no chance of us being here now. I loved – I still love – your answer. I don’t think there is any drink in the world that could match up to it.”  
  
“Really?” Bokuto asked quietly.  
  
Akaashi smiled, one that was softened and warmed Bokuto from inside. “Yes.”  
  
Bokuto straightened himself up. “It was a pretty good answer,” he said, regaining some of his confidence.  
  
“Ushijima-san came to apologise for being insensitive to my feelings and one-sidedly ending the relationship. I accepted his apology and we ended the conversation on an amiable note.”  
  
“So... you got the closure you needed?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Bokuto’s heart sank at the answer, and his body sank back into the chair.  
  
“I don’t need closure – I already closed that door when I decided I want to be with you. And as soon as I registered the meaning of your question, I realised I was at fault for never clearly expressing what I want.”  
  
Akaashi leaned forward, tilting his head and pausing just short of their lips touching; Bokuto stared into the vast ocean of his soul, waiting for the tide to roll in.  
  
“I desire only you. So please, stay with me.”  
  
The kiss was gentle and chaste, filled with pleas and promises that they would be together for all the years to come. Bokuto threaded his fingers into his hair and clenched the messy curls as guilt clenched his heart for his earlier doubts, which Akaashi must have magically known because he rested a hand onto his chest, releasing him from the painful grip, soothing it with his warmth.  
  
Akaashi pulled away and bolted back to the counter, leaving Bokuto dazed.  
  
“I’m going to close the shop.”  
  
That shocked him back to reality. Bokuto glanced at the clock – twenty past eight.  
  
Akaashi’s work habits had improved over the year. He no longer worked every late shift (although he would always take the late shift over the weekends) and he would also close if there was no one in the room after last orders.  
  
But closing the tea room hours beforehand was like Akaashi gone wild.  
  
“You never close this early. Are you feeling okay? Is it because of Ushijima—”  
  
“I would be lying if I said it isn’t, but equally it has been a long day. I doubt anyone will come in with all the snow and I would rather spend the evening with you at home.”  
  
Bokuto wasn’t going to try to change his mind – he would take any excuse to be back at home with Akaashi to himself.  
  
“Let me help then!”  
  
With his energy renewed, Bokuto jumped up from his chair to clear the tables, glancing occasionally at Akaashi to secretly enjoy the blush that was colouring the whole of his face.  
  
  
  
  
Bokuto loved Akaashi more than anything in the whole wide world.  
  
He especially loved unraveling Akaashi. Akaashi insisted he was unreadable but the more Bokuto watched, the more he was rewarded with new quirks and traits. The slight dip in his gaze when he was thinking through options. His lips pursing ever so slightly when exasperated. And his hands; they were an obvious indicator to the varying degrees of anxiety or insecurity or nerves depending on how he twisted, massaged or held them. Bokuto knew all their meanings and he loved to take those hands and hold them in his own, rubbing soothing circles and placing kisses along his fingers, until they loosened and relaxed.  
  
Sometimes Bokuto realised too late that Akaashi had built a dam around himself, his thoughts and whatever was troubling him building up and up and up. It couldn’t be opened by force, so Bokuto would talk – words constantly chipping away until it finally cracked, whatever issue he harboured trickling through the gap until the wall crumbled under pressure and everything poured out; Bokuto bore the torrent until every last drop had been drained. Usually it was easy to resolve. Sometimes Bokuto had to wrap Akaashi in his arms and insist everything was okay. Always Akaashi would be reassured.  
  
Bokuto stood by the window, watching the snowfall, thinking of what Akaashi said earlier about closure. Bokuto knew Akaashi was telling the truth, but he also thought Akaashi was so used to the sting he didn’t realise there was a tiny part of his wound that remained open. Now though, it was completely closed – scarred, but healed.  
  
“Bokuto-san.”  
  
Bokuto looked up to Akaashi standing by the sofa, holding two cups and saucers.  
  
“I was hoping you would try this new blend.”  
  
“You know I will!”  
  
Bokuto walked up to take one of the teas off Akaashi, sitting down slowly so as not to spill a single drop. He blew at the steam several times, peering over the rim to see Akaashi settle down and watch him intently. It must be a new blend for the tea room, he thought, otherwise Akaashi wouldn’t look so serious. Bokuto liked that his input was valued. In the beginning he thought it was pointless being asked because he knew nothing about tea, but Akaashi said he wanted to know from a non-professional’s point of view so Bokuto tried to help as much as he could.  
  
He took a sip; strong, sweet, slightly tangy.  
  
“Fruity. Spicy. It’s nice!” Bokuto took another sip that confirmed his judgement.  
  
Akaashi wasn’t deterred. “You can be honest.”  
  
“I’m always honest! But I guess... it’s not a complaint by the way, just my own opinion, you know I still don’t know much about tea, but – if it’s for the tea room it doesn’t taste very... wintry? Like it’s the wrong season for it. I really do like the taste though!”  
  
Bokuto wasn’t expecting Akaashi’s smile, one that was fond and content and – Bokuto wanted to say proud, but this expression was new; he stored it away for the future. Normally Akaashi would fall into quiet mode, muttering additions and subtractions and corrections to his equation that made Bokuto’s head hurt because maths had never been his strong point.  
  
“It’s not wintry because I made it thinking of you.”  
  
Bokuto – hunched over the cup ready to drink more – paused. “What do you mean?”  
  
“This is my answer to your question. A strong black tea, earthy and bold. I wanted to use a fruit available around your birthday, something sweet, and another that would complement it – that’s the slight sharpness you may have noticed. I added the spice because of your ability to bring warmth to everyone. This is what I think you would taste like.”  
  
Bokuto took another deliberate sip, rolling the liquid around on his tongue.  
  
He had asked Akaashi not long after they had officially started dating what Akaashi thought he would taste like. Akaashi hadn’t given an answer, saying he honestly didn’t know. Bokuto said he would wait. He remembered the question sometimes, not asking because he didn’t want to seem annoying, but he did continue to wonder. He also wondered if Akaashi had forgotten. And then without knowing it he himself had forgotten.  
  
“I love it, Akaashi.” Bokuto looked into the dark liquid, smiling. “And you know what the best thing is? It couldn’t be made without water.”  
  
Akaashi’s smile shifted to one that was hesitant and a touch amused. “By your logic I would technically be cheating on you with every single drink that exists.”  
  
Bokuto thought about that answer, dropping his smile when it clicked. “Water’s a horrible comparison. I have to come up with something better—”  
  
Akaashi’s mouth stopped him from talking.  
  
“I like water,” Akaashi murmured against his lips.  
  
Bokuto could understand. He liked water too.  
  
He wanted to continue tasting the tea, but he wanted to taste Akaashi more, and he leaned forward so their lips touched again, swiping his tongue across for permission; Akaashi readily parted his lips and Bokuto—  
  
Bokuto jerked back, hot liquid splashing onto his jeans and the sofa. Akaashi’s flash of irritation had too many layers for Bokuto to figure out, especially when he had other things to panic about.  
  
“Black tea has caffeine!”  
  
Akaashi blinked at him. “Yes,” he said flatly, disapproval seeping from that one word.  
  
“You said I shouldn’t have caffeine in the evening if I want to sleep!”  
  
“Ah.” Akaashi shifted his gaze to the tea, his thumb slowly tracing the handle up and down. “Well. Yes. But tomorrow is a national holiday. And you have the day off. And I was made to take the day off. So perhaps… I don’t want you to sleep tonight.”  
  
In the same way it was uncharacteristic of Akaashi to be so forward, Bokuto uncharacteristically fell silent. He carefully put his cup and saucer down onto the coffee table. Then he gently slipped Akaashi’s cup and saucer from his hands to put it down next to his and turned back to Akaashi.  
  
Bokuto suddenly gripped Akaashi by the shoulders and roughly pushed him down onto the sofa. Akaashi’s eyes widened a fraction.  
  
“I won’t be able to hold myself back,” Bokuto growled.  
  
Akaashi swallowed. “I don’t want you to.”  
  
Bokuto pressed his body down further, fighting down the urge to moan. If Akaashi shifting under him and clenching his jaw was any indication, he was also trying to hold out.  
  
“I’ll take you apart.” It came out a strangled whisper, a promise than a warning.  
  
Akaashi smiled, all nervous expectations and absolute faith, and Bokuto had to bite the inside of his lip to keep his grip on the last of his self-control.  
  
“I trust you to put me together again.”  
  
Bokuto cracked first. But Akaashi was the one whimpering under the forceful crush of his lips, clawing at his back and desperately trying to deepen the kiss, so Bokuto pulled away just long enough to declare himself winner before sinking again, immersing himself in Akaashi and the aroma of apple, and blackcurrant, and cinnamon.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who read this story, and an extra thank you to those of you who supported it through kudos and comments! I consider this to be my first Haikyuu!!/BokuAka fic and it went a lot better than I thought it would? If you'd like to, please leave a message in the comments or on [twitter](http://twitter.com/yozra_teru) to let me know your thoughts :3
> 
> There will be a short break, and then I hope to be back with another fic so please pop back if you're interested - it's currently a toss up between a new BokuAka fic (or two, or three - no surprises as to who my favourites are) and 'what really happened behind the scenes between Iwaizumi and Oikawa while Akaashi was running around after Bokuto' (title TBC). I'm an average writer at best but I'm also open to any suggestions for fic, though I make no guarantees XD;
> 
> Thank you all once again!!♡


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